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JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS 


WZtsttvn 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK    CHARLES  T.  DILLINGHAM 

1884 


Copyright, 

1884, 
BY  LEE  AND  SHEPAKD. 

All  Rights  Reserved. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 


ELECTROTYPE!!  BY 

C.  J.  PETERS  AND  SON,  BOSTON. 


STACK 
ANNEX 

PS 

3539 


JOHN  THOM'S  FOLKS, 


CHAPTER  I. 

Kitzmillers  were  new-comers  in  the 
Wycoff  settlement.  They  had  left  a 
pleasant  home  in  a  State  farther  east,  and 
taken  up  their  abode  in  this  comparatively  new 
region,  for  the  simple  mathematical  reason  that 
the  price  of  a  small  farm  of  rather  thin  land 
there  would  purchase  a  large  one  of  very  rich 
land  here. 

The  family  consisted  of  the  united  head,  and 
two  children :  Leander,  aged  twenty-one,  just 
the  commonplace  rural  young  man,  and  Olive, 
not  commonplace  at  all,  but  a  lovely,  dark- 
skijmed  child  of  eighteen,  with  feelings  as 
ardent  as  August  sunshine,  and  pure  as  dew. 

The  house  before  which  the  canvas-covered 
flitting-wagons  stopped,  one  day  in  the  early 
spring,  was  a  long,  low  frame  structure,  with 

1 


2  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

verandahs  running  the  entire  length,  both  in  front 
and  rear.  It  was  one  of  the  ten  or  dozen  frame 
houses  which  the  township,  exclusive  of  the 
village  of  New  Madrid,  could  boast.  The 
house  was  quite  new.  There  were  capacious 
log  stables  and  out-buildings,  and  an  orchard 
of  thrifty  young  fruit-trees,  not  yet  come  into 
bearing.  The  original  owner  of  the  place  had 
been  constrained  to  sell  it,  under  pressure  of 
sorrow  and  discouragement.  His  wife  had  died, 
leaving  him  with  a  brood  of  little  ones  on  his 
hands.  Friends  at  the  east  offered  help  with 
the  children  if  he  would  return  there,  and  Mr. 
Kitzmiller  appearing  at  this  juncture  and  offer 
ing  an  honest  price,  the  farm  became  his. 

It  was  called  an  improved  farm,  though  on 
half  the  land  the  heavy  timber  stood  untouched, 
and  the  remainder  was  thickly  studded  with 
stumps,  too  green  for  lifting.  Kitzmiller  and 
his  wife  were  well  pleased  with  the  change 
they  had  made.  It  would  prove  a  wise  one  in 
the  long  run,  and  the  "long  run"  was  what 
these  people  always  considered.  They  were 
essentially  industrious  and  patient,  and  their 
son,  inheriting  largely  these  qualities  of  his 
parents,  was  also  well  satisfied  with  the  new 


JOHN  THOKN'S  FOLKS.  3 

home.  To  own  a  goodly  number  of  these  inex 
haustible  acres  :  to  build  a  house  and  people  it 
with  a  family  of  his  own ;  to  raise  stock  and 
watch  the  growth  of  such  lush  crops  as  the 
inky  soil  produced,  such  were  the  calm  and 
reasonable  ambitions  of  his  heart.  A  school- 
section  cornered  upon  his  father's  land,  which 
could  be  bought  cheaply.  It  was  covered  with 
virgin  forest,  the  great  tree-boles  of  walnut  and 
poplar  standing  so  thick  that  a  deer  could  only 
traverse  it  with  antlers  held  oblique.  Young 
Kitzmiller  scarcely  thought  of  the  millions  of 
axe-strokes  it  would  require  to  bring  that  land 
under  cultivation,  but  he  did  think  of  the 
time,  not  far  distant,  when  the  coming  of  the 
portable  sawmill  and  the  railroad  would  turn 
that  forest  into  a  gold-mine. 

It  was  a  land  of  promise,  if  not  of  present 
beauty.  Little  Olive  cared  not  for  the  promise, 
while  the  newness  and  wildness  filled  her,  at 
first,  with  a  pitiful  homesick  longing.  She 
had  been  reared  on  the  spot  where  she  was 
born,  and  her  life  had  been  very  bright  and 
simple.  Her  feelings  after  the  removal  may 
have  been  something  like  those  of  a  household 
pet  suddenly  encaged  in  a  bosky  wilderness. 


4  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

But  the  setting  to  rights  of  the  new  house 
afforded  her  a  keen  pleasure. 

There  was  a  corner  cupboard  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  in  this  she  arranged  her  mother's 
set  of  blue  and  white  Liverpool  ware,  not  a 
piece  of  which  had  been  broken  in  the  transit. 
In  another  corner  of  the  same  large  room  a 
white-wood  book-case  was  erected,  and  on  it 
she  placed  the  miscellaneous  assortment  of 
volumes  that  constituted  their  small  library. 
There  were  a  good  many  school-books,  and 
some  Patent-Office  Reports,  all  utilized  with  a 
view  to  filling  space  and  magnifying  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  collection.  Scott's  Infantry 
Tactics  found  a  niche  between  Don  Quixote  and 
an  odd  volume  of  Macaulay's  Essays ;  and 
Barrington's  Sketches  shouldered  McCosh  on 
the  Divine  Government.  The  remainder  of 
that  shelf,  after  McCosh,  was  filled  with  books 
of  a  similar  tone,  —  McCheyne's  Sermons,  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  works  of  Doddridge, 
Boston,  and  Baxter. 

Olive's  eyes  rested  upon  this  row  of  serious 
books  with  an  interest  she  could  not  have  ex 
plained.  She  had  never  read  them ;  but  were 
they  not  the  tables  of  the  law  ?  and  would  not 


JOHN    THORNS   FOLKS.  5 

the  tabernacle  that  contained  them  be  under 
sacred  protection  ?  The  feeling  of  security  was 
deepened  when,  on  the  Sunday  morning  after 
their  arrival,  she  knelt  with  parents  and  brother, 
while  the  good  fanner  asked  the  Divine  blessing 
in  the  same  set  phrases  she  had  listened  to  from 
infancy.  The  family  altar  made  the  new  place 
home. 

In  due  time  the  Kitzmillers  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  their  neighbors.  The  first  step 
in  this  direction  was  the  formal  entertaining  of 
a  visiting  party.  Mr.  Henry  WycofF,  passing 
the  house  one  day  on  his  way  to  New  Madrid, 
halted  and  informed  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  that  she 
might  expect  company  on  the  next  day  but 
one.  His  mother  and  his  wife  and  a  few  other 
women,  supposing  them  to  be  about  settled, 
had  concluded  to  make  them  a  call.  Mrs.  Kitz 
miller  knew  very  well  what  a  "call,"  in  country 
parlance,  signifies ;  she  was  used  to  this  mode 
of  testing  a  new  neighbor's  hospitality,  and  set 
about  with  pleased  alacrity  to  boil  her  most 
savory  ham,  and  produce  her  whitest  loaves  for 
the  occasion.  There  was  also  a  browning  of 
richly-flavored  coffee,  and  a  stewing  of  home- 
dried  peaches,  till  all  the  region  around  was 
saluted  by  delicious  odors. 


6  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

They  came  early,  and  spent  the  day, — old 
Mrs.  Wycoff,  young  Mrs.  Wycoff,  and  four 
other  leading  ladies  of  the  neighborhood.  The, 
elder  Mrs.  Wycofi'  introduced  herself  and  her 
friends  to  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  who  received  them 
with  frank  friendliness,  and  helped  them  off 
with  their  things,  while  Olive  stood  ready  to 
carry  bonnets  and  shawls  and  deposit  them  on 
her  mother's  curtained  bed.  Then  there  were 
a  couple  of  babies  to  be  unrolled  and  generally 
attended  to,  and  these  small  objects  of  univer 
sal  feminine  interest  drew  the  hearts  of  hostess 
and  guests  together,  and  unsealed  a  tide  of 
genial  talk,  which  diverged  into  innumerable 
channels,  but  knew  no  slack  or  ebb  till  the 
declining  sun  warned  the  good  women  that 
milking-time  was  near,  and  the  newly-weaned 
calves  were  bleating  at  their  empty  troughs. 

Through  this  all-day  visitation,  the  new  peo 
ple  were  made  acquainted,  not  only  with  the 
six  families  represented,  but  with  the  neighbor 
hood  in  general,  and  "John  Thorn's  folks  "  in 
particular. 

When  the  Thorns  were  mentioned  Mrs.  Kitz 
miller  and  Olive  listened  with  quickened  in 
terest,  for  the  reason  that  they  were  their 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  7 

nearest  neighbors,  and  that  there  seemed  to  be 
something  eccentric  about  the  people  and  their 
way  of  living.  The  two  houses  were  in  full 
view  of  each  other,  and  Olive,  in  her  lootings 
that  way,  had  observed  that  the  stated  perform 
ances  of  farm-house  life  did  not  go  on  there  in 
the  ordinary  manner.  For  instance,  there  was' 
no  regular  Monday's  washing,  but  a  few  clothes 
•were  hung  out  almost  any  day  of  the  week, 
sometimes  even  on  Sunday.  There  were  other 
signs  of  mismanagement  and  desultoriness  at 
the  house,  all  in  strong  contrast  to  the  well- 
appointed  farm  and  tannery,  for  Thorn  was  a 
tanner  as  well  as  a  farmer. 

"  I  wish  you  had  brought  Mrs.  Thorn  with 
you  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Kitzmiller.  "  We  are 
such  near  neighbors,  we  ought  to  become  ac 
quainted." 

"  Ten  to  one  you  won't  be  for  the  next  two 
years,  unless  some  favorin'  accident  should 
happen,"  said  Mrs.  Wycoff,  senior.  "As  for 
askin'  her  to  come  with  us  visitin',  I'd  as  soon 
'a'  thought  of  askin'  old  Bloodroot.  She 's  a 
medicine  squaw7,  that  lives  down  by  Half-Moon 
Lake.  Miss  Thorn  is  odder 'n  odd  !  " 

Following  this  climax  came  a  history  of  the 


8  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Thorns,  given  in  a  somewhat  scattering  manner 
by  the  different  members  of  the  company.  The 
reader  shall  be  favored  with  a  more  consecutive 
one. 


CHAPTER  II. 

O  OME  years  before,  an  old  Scotchman  named 
Ludlow  had  settled  upon  a  tract  of  wild 
land  in  New  Madrid  township.  His  family  at 
first  comprised  a  wife,  a  son,  and  a  daughter ; 
but  within  a  year  or  two  after  their  coming  the 
boy  and  his  mother  both  died,  leaving  the  old 
man  with  his  daughter  Emily  as  his  sole  com 
panion  and  housekeeper.  Ludlow  had  been  a 
cloth-draper  in  Scotland,  and  had  come  to 
America  with  the  intention  of  investing  his 
savings  in  western  lands.  That  he  had  brought 
with  him  a  hoard  of  some  bulk  none  of  his 
neighbors  at  first  doubted.  Among  them  its 
estimate  varied  from  a  few  hundred  dollars  to 
some  tens  of  thousands.  After  a  while,  how 
ever,  the  belief  in  his  riches  gradually  faded  out 
of  the  public  mind ;  he  bought  no  more  land ; 
he  loaned  no  cash  to  any  one,  though  frequently 
applied  to.  by  responsible  parties,  who  offered 
him  fair  interest.  His  energies  seemed  pros 
trated  by  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  son,  and  a 
year  after  the  death  of  the  latter  he  was  stricken 

9 


10  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

with  paralysis  and  carried  into  his  cabin  a  help 
less  cripple  for  life. 

Emily  Ludlow  was  a  trifle  past  fourteen  years 
old  when  her  mother  died,  leaving  her  to  a 
most  forlorn  and  miserable  existence.  Her 
father  was  severe  to  cruelty ;  he  was  also  miser 
ly  to  the  last  degree,  and  forced  her  to  subsist 
on  the  coarsest  food  and  wear  only  such  gar 
ments  as  she  could  fashion  from  the  wardrobe 
of  her  dead  mother.  He  welcomed  no  one  to 
his  door,  and  rudely  repulsed  one  kind  woman 
who  visited  the  house  with  oifers  of  sympathy 
and  help  to  the  poor  child.  After  he  was 
palsied  Emily  planted  and  hoed  in  the  field  as 
usual,  running  in  to  wait  upon  her  father  when 
he  pounded  on  the  window-sash  with  his  cane. 
She  generally  managed  to  keep  out  of  reach  of 
his  ill-aimed  blows,  and  to  his  curses  and  com 
plaints  she  grew  hardened.  They  were  left  in 
time  quite  to  themselves,  no  one  going  near 
them  save  John  Thorn. 

He  happened  to  be  passing  near  Ludlow 's 
cabin  on  the  duy  of  the  latter's  paralytic  seizure. 
Emily,  running  out  for  help,  met  him  a  few 
rods  from  the  house ;  he  went  with  her  and 
carried  her  father  from  the  clearing,  where  he 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  11 

had  fallen,  in  to  his  bed,  and  called  every  day 
for  a  week  till  the  old  man  was  able  to  sit  up 
and  give  his  orders  in  partly  intelligible  lan 
guage.  He  came  afterwards  from  time  to  time 
and  performed  many  little  commissions  for  the 
invalid,  such  as  bringing  his  tea  and  tobacco 
from  the  village  store,  and  procuring  him  canes 
and  crutches  of  various  styles,  none  of  which 
served  him  for  any  other  use  than  pounding  on 
the  floor  and  shaking  at  the  head  of  poor  Emily. 
He  was  a  wrathful,  bad  old  man  in  those  help 
less  days.  Possibly  his  unaccountable  rages, 
followed  by  long  seasons  of  the  deepest  gloom, 
may  have  been  in  part  due  to  the  fact  that  he 
suffered  horribly  from  hepatic  engorgement. 
One  can  readily  understand  how  it  happens  that 
in  New  England,  where  people  exist  in  blissful 
unconsciousness  of  their  livers,  they  find  it 
difficult  to  accept  original  sin,  total  depravity, 
and  various  other  depressing  doctrines  that  come 
quite  natural  to  the  inhabitants  of  malarial 
regions,  particularly  when  the  autumns  arc 
moist  and  warm. 

John  Thorn  frequently  saw  Ludlow  in  his 
worst  tempers,  and  the  fact  that  he  seemed  to 
derive  amusement  from  his  impotent  oaths  and 


12  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

grumblings  caused  Emily  to  conceive  a  strong 
aversion  to  him.  His  acts  were  always  kind, 
yet  she  grew  to  look  upon  him  as  one  who 
could  laugh  at  suffering,  who  knew  no  pity, 
who  in  his  cold  indifference  to  her  humiliating 
trials  was  as  much  more  cruel  than  her  father 
as  he  was- younger  and  stronger. 

K I  wish  you  would  never  come  here  again !  " 
she  cried  passionately  one  day,  when  he  had 
laughed  at  her  confused  attempts  to  follow  her 
father's  contradictory  directions  about  prepar 
ing  and  serving  his  dinner ;  "  I  can  do  for  my 
father  alone,  and  you  only  come  here  to  jeer  at 
us  and  tell  other  people  how  badly  we  get  on  !  " 

To  this  John  laughingly  replied  by  advising 
her  to  get  a  new  dog,  and  a  very  cross  one,  as 
he  was  not  at  all  afraid  of  old  Tinker. 

Thorn  had  been  a  resident  of  the  county  a 
few  years  longer  than  the  Ludlows.  He  was  a 
bachelor  of  thirty,  and  his  domestic  affairs  were 
presided  over  by  a  deaf  old  woman  whom  he 
called  Aunt  Thirsa.  He  once  told  Jarcd  AVy- 
coff  how  this  queer  personage  came  to  be  his 
housekeeper.  His  mother  died  when  was  a 
child,  and  Thirsa  Winchel,  a  distant  relative 
and  a  childless  widow,  took  temporary  charge 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  13 

of  his  father's  household.  His  father  married 
again ;  other  children  came  ;  John  was  crowded 
harder  and  harder  till  he  left  home,  partly 
driven  out,  partly  frozen  out.  Winchel  stayed 
on,  always  with  a  stocking  to  darn  or  a  child  to 
tend.  John's  father  gave  him  some  money, 
with  which  he  went  to  school  for  a  year  or  two. 
Then  he  hired  with  a  tanner,  learned  the  trade 
rapidly,  and  soon  earned  good  wages.  At  the 
age  of  twenty-three  he  had  saved  enough  to 
buy  land  in  Indiana.  He  went  home  one  day 
to  say  good-bye,  and  found  Aunt  Thirsa  in 
great  distress.  The  hard  second  wife  was  about 
sending  her  to  the  poor-house. 

"I  could  earn  my  living  still,"  moaned  the 
poor  creature,  "if  some  one  would  find  me  a 
place  to  work  where  I  would  n't  have  to  learn 
new  things  ! " 

John  begged  another  night's  lodging  for  her 
under  the  old  roof,  then  took  her  with  him  to 
the  West,  and  installed  her  as  general  mis- 
manager  of  his  new  home.  No  stronger  proof 
could  a  man  give  of  innate  kindliness  of  dispo 
sition  than  Thorn  gave  by  his  unfailing  patience 
with  old  Thirsa  ;  for  he  endured  much  discom 
fort  which  might  have  been  bettered  had  it  so 


14  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

pleased  the  dull,  slow,  obstinate  dependent, 
who  would  brook  neither  help  nor  helpful  sug 
gestion.  Yet  he  was  held  by  people  about  him 
to  be  a  strong,  shrewd  man,  capable  in  many 
directions,  yet  less  capable  of  gentleness  to  his 
kind  than  most  others.  He  was  respected,  but 
scarcely  liked.  Country  maidens  and  young 
widows  cast  admiring  glances  at  his  fine  figure 
and  superb  horsemanship  ;  but  when  they  noted 
that  he  rode  with  a  bit  that  drew  blood,  and 
heard  about  his  shooting  a  valuable  bull  for 
breaking  a  fence  and  leading  the  herd  into  a 
wheatfield,  they  shook  their  prudent  heads  and 
commiserated  the  possible  wife  of  such  a  hus 
band.  Through  all  his  unloved  childhood  and 
youth  he  had  hardly  thought  of  pitying  himself, 
and  his  persistent  effort  to  make  light  of  his 
own  buffet  ings  had  fixed  upon  him  a  habit  of 
mind  that  made  it  possible  for  him  to  shock  the 
feelings  of  those  accustomed  to  the  ordinary 
and  understandable  expressions  of  human  sym 
pathy.  Without  there  was  a  crust  of  terse 
formality,  of  offensive  indifference ;  Avithin  was 
a  heart  of  fire,  but  no  one  suspected  it,  not 
even  John  Thorn. 


CHAPTER  III. 

O  OME  twenty  months  after  the  first,  Ludlow 
had  another  shock  of  palsy.  It  was  a  light 
one,  but  left  him  very  much  prostrated.  The 
day  following,  Thorn  called  at  the  cabin,  re 
mained  awhile  within,  then  went  out  to  where 
Emily  was  busily  hoeing  in  the  corn-field. 

"  Stop  your  work  awhile,  Emily,"  he  said, 
with  a  new  gravity  and  gentleness  in  his  voice. 
"  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

She  obeyed,  letting  the  hoe  fall  at  her  feet, 
and  folding  her  arms  to  rest  them  while  she 

o 

listened. 

"  Your  father  is  going  to  die.  The  end  will 
come  in  a  week  or  two  at  farthest.  You  will 
be  left  quite  alone  then,  and  I  would  like  to 
make  you  my  wife  before  he  goes.  He  seem-; 
to  wish  it,  and  I  have  for  a  long  time  wished 
it." 

"Your  wife  !  "  she  almost  screamed.  "I  hato 
you,  John  Thorn,  and  you  know  it !  I  would 
hide  myself  and  die  in  the  woods  first !  " 

She  was  a  tall  girl  of  seventeen  now,  and 

15 


16  JOHN  THOEN'S  FOLKS. 

very  lovely.  She  straightened  herself  proudly, 
throwing  back  the  rich  chestnut  hair  from  a 
forehead  whose  whiteness  no  sun  or  wind  could 
stain,  and  looked  at  him  in  pale  defiance. 
Thorn  smiled  slightly  as  he  said,  — 

"That  is  about  the  kind  of  answer  I  expected, 
and  some  progress  has  been  made.  I  am  com 
ing  back  to-morrow,  and  you  will,  maybe,  talk 
differently  then,  or  be  silent,  which  will  amount 
to  consent ;  for,  look  here,  my  violent  child,  I 
am  going  to  make  you  such  pledges  as  no  other 
man  ever  made  the  girl  he  liked  and  wanted  for 
his  own.  You  shall  have  the  most  absolute 
liberty  in  eve^thing  —  to  go  where  you  please, 
do  what  you  like, — my  watch  over  you  amount 
ing  onl}T  to  necessary  protection.  Until  you 
desire  my  love  it  shall  never  be  thrust  upon 
you.  No  requirements  of  any  sort  shall  be 
placed  upon  you  ;  you  are  to  be  left  sole  mis 
tress  of  your  own  movements  and  your  own 
time,  and,  unless  you  choose  to  do  so,  you  need 
never  spend  an  hour  alone  with  me,  making 
allowance  for  unavoidable  accidents.  Think  of 
it  till  to-morrow,"  and  he  was  gone. 

The  next  day  he  again  found  Emily  hoeing. 

"Why  do  you  work   so  hard?"  he  asked; 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  17 

"you  know  you  will  leave  this  place  in  a  few 
days." 

For  a  minute  she  stood  silent  with  her  eyes 
on  the  ground  ;  then  looked  up  and  said  : 

"I  never  told  a  lie  in  my  life,  not  even  to 
save  myself  a  beating.  If  I  thought" —  she 
hesitated  and  looked  down. 

"  If  you  thought  I  would  keep  my  pledges, 
you  mean,"  said  Thorn.  "I  am  not  a  liar, 
either,  Emily.  I  always  have  this  handy," 
showing  the  hilt  of  a  revolver,  "  and  I  would 
put  a  ball  through  my  head  sooner  than  have 
you  taunt  me  with  breaking  them.  You  are 
safe  enough."  He  waited  a  little  for  her  to 
speak  ;  she  did  not,  and  he  said  : 

"You'll  go  home  with  me,  then,  when  he 
doesn't  need  you  any  longer?" 

Still  she  was  silent. 

"All  right,"  said  Thorn  briefly,  and  turned 
away. 

She  watched  him  as  he  strode  across  the 
clearing,  noting  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  his 

O  * 

erect  carriage,  the  fine  poise  of  his  head,  and 
the  wonderful  energy  of  all  his  movements. 
She  recalled  a  remark  made  by  her  father  in 
one  of  his  rare  moods  of  talkativeness, — "He'll 


18  JOHN  THORN'S 


be  a  great  man  in  these  parts  one  day,  will  Jack 
Thorn." 

"I  wonder  why  he  wants  me,"  she  said  to 
herself;  she  fell  to  musing  and  worked  no  more 
that  day. 

Returning  from  a  walk,  one  afternoon  a  few 
days  later,  Emily  found  Thorn  in  the  house, 
and  with  him  another  man.  Jared  Wycoft*  wras 
the  eldest  son  of  the  Jiouse  of  Wycoff,  which 
was  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  county.  When  a 
youth  he  had  been  racked  with  ague  and  dosed 
with  calomel,  till  the  mercurial  poison,  in  its 
contest  with  the  malarial  poison,  had  twisted  his 
spine  and  hips,  deforming  and  laming  him  for 
life.  He  had  spent  some  years  in  an  eastern 
State,  pursuing  his  studies  while  being  under 
medical  treatment.  When  he  returned  to  In 
diana  he  was  installed  as  winter  schoolmaster 
for  life,  made  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  en 
dowed  with  most  of  the  other  small  offices  in 
the  gift  of  the  good  people  among  whom  he 
lived. 

When  Emily  entered,  Jared  sat  figuring  upon 
some  official  blanks,  a  tin  case  on  his  knee  serv 
ing  him  for  a  desk.  The  poor,  lame  fellow  had 
been  making  one  of  his  rounds  as  township 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  19 

assessor ;  he  was  very  tired  and  in  a  hurry  to 
get  home,  so  Thorn  said  : 

"  Squire  Wycoff  has  called  to  marry  us, 
Emily.  I  have  the  license  here ;  if  you  are 
ready  we  will  not  keep  him  waiting." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  while  a  soft,  pink 
flush  suffused  cheek,  neck,  and  brow ;  then  she 
reached  him  the  hand  that  was  nearest  him,  as 
they  stood.  It  chanced  to  be  the  left  one ; 
Thorn  took  it  quickly  and  held  it  in  both  his 
own,  while  the  Justice  in  few  words  made  them 
husband  and  wife. 

The  two  men  went  away  together.  Late  that 
evening  a  good-natured,  red-headed  boy  made 
his  appearance  at  Ludlow's.  He  said  his  name 
was  Davy  Ransom ;  he  lived  on  John  Thorn's 
place,  and  Thorn  had  sent  him  to  "stay  around" 
a  few  days,  as  Emily  might  not  like  to  be  alone 
when  her  father  was  so  bad. 

Thorn  himself  did  not  return  for  two  days. 
On  the  morning  of  the  third,  old  Ludlow  began 
to  worry  over  his  absence  and  desired  Emily 
to  send  for  him.  This  she  declined  to  do,  or 
at  least  put  him  off;  whereupon  he  upbraided 
her  for  a  "  stubborn  wench,"  and  accused  her  of 
affronting  a  husband  who  was  too  good  for  her. 


20  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

In  the  afternoon  he  seemed  all  at  once  to  grow 
weaker,  and  as  he  still  continued  to  wish  that 
"Jack"  would  come,  Emilj*  was  on  the  point 
of  sending  Davy  Ransom  for  him  when  Thorn 
entered  the  door.  Emily  blushed  again,  that 
delicate,  wild-rose  blush,  and  drooped  her  eye 
lids  beneath  the  warm,  sweet  smile  with  which 
he  greeted  her. 

"  Send  the  lad  away,"  said  the  old  man  with 
an  air  of  haste  ;  "yes,  and  the  gell,  too." 

Davy  went  out  and  began  chopping  at  the 
woodpile.  Emily  sat  still,  and  her  father  did 
not  seem  to  mind  her.  Motioning  Thorn  to 
come  near  the  bedside  the  old  Scot  said  in  a 
low,  eager  tone  : 

"  It 's  i'  the  auld  tree,  Jack  !  Can  ye  see  the 
little  honey-locust  at  the  fut  o'  the  clearin'? 
Gae  doon  to  thot,  then  tak  twa  hunnerd  gude 
steps  stret  east,  thro  the  thick  timmer.  Ye  '11 
find  yersel  near  a  big  tulip-tree,  wi'  a  hole  in 
its  side.  Gae  on  ye  knees  and  peer  oop  at  the 
dure  o'  the  tree.  Ye  '11  see  some'at ;  bring  it 
me  quick." 

John  went  out,  and  bidding  Davy  follow 
him,  steered  straight  for  the  big  tree.  Emily 
sprang  to  the  window ;  she  observed  that  he 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  21 

did  not  follow  directions  by  o:oin<£  down  to  the 

*/      O  O 

honey-locust  and  counting  his  steps  from  there, 
but  went  direct  and  unhesitating  from  the  cabin 
door.  The  fact  was,  he  knew  the  old  tulip 
tree  by  sight,  as  he  did  many  other  ancient 
trees  in  the  region,  and  did  not  need  landmarks 
to  find  it.  Stooping  at  the  aperture  and  look 
ing  up,  his  eye  caught  a  glint  of  something 
bright,  about  eight  feet  from  the  ground. 
Davy  introduced  his  body  into  the  hollow  of 
the  tree  without  difficulty  and  elbowed  his  way 
a  short  distance  up  its  sides ;  then  bracing 
back  and  knees,  reached  down  a  covered  tin- 
pail  of  some  size. 

After  he  had  emerged,  covered  with  red  dust 
and  debris,  and  John  had  taken  the  pail,  they 
both  stood  and  looked  curiously  at  the  old  tree. 
A  light  breeze  stirring  its  top  caused  it  to 
tremble  ominously  on  its  spongy  sap-ring. 

"  What  a  shaller  dodge  that  wus  ! "  said  the 
boy.  "  A  sand-hill  crane  'd  know'd  better  'n  to 
built  her  nest  in  that  old  shell.  Any  stiff  blow 
mought  'a'  flopped  it  over'n  then  some  gump 
like  me  'd  found  the  cash  !  " 

John  did  not  open  the  tin  treasure  casket  till 
he  reached  the  old  man's  bedside ;  then  in 


22  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Emily's  presence  —  Davy  having  been  dismissed 
at  the  wood-pile  —  he  counted  the  contents  of 
the  pail,  some  three  thousand  dollars,  mostly 
in  gold  coin,  with  a  few  bank-notes,  the  latter 
sewed  in  buckskin  and  very  mouldy. 

"  Tak  it  all,  Jack,"  said  Ludlow,  "  and  wi'  its 
holp  mak  o'  yersel  a  rich  mon.  It  was  meant 
for  my  ain  laid,  as  is  gone  afore  me ;  now  it's 
yours.  Ye'll  do  fairly  by  the  gell  I  ken,  and  a 
woman 's  na  gude  wi'  money  till  her  hond." 

He  lived  yet  a  week  longer.  Old  Mrs. 
Wycoff  and  other  kind  neighbors  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  and  assisted  Emily  in  her  nursing 
and  watching.  John  Thorn  came  and  went ; 
but  Emily  blushed  no  more  at  his  coming.  She 
mused  about  him  no  more  in  his  absence,  nor 
asked  herself  again,  "Why  does  he  want  me?" 
She  thought  she  knew ;  it  was  for  the  money. 
He  had  known  of  its  existence,  and  to  make 
himself  legally  sure  of  it  had  first  made  sure  of 
her.  Her  mental  journey  to  this  conclusion  was 
a  very  short  one.  Undoubtedly  his  designs 
upon  her  father's  gold  were  at  the  bottom  of  all 
his  neighborly  attentions  to  them  as  a  family, 
and  prompted  that  last  extraordinary  step 
with  reference  to  herself.  Believing  this,  she 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  23 

straightway  proceeded  to  lavish  upon  him,  in 
her  heart,  that  choice  and  racy  scorn  which  we 
all  feel  to  be  the  rightful  due  of  selfish  and 
mercenary  beings  who  hold  us  in  their  power. 
Nevertheless,  she  went  home  with  him  after  her 
father  was  buried. 

She  was  introduced  to  Aunt  Thirsa  with 
much  difficulty.  John  shouted  the  name  Emily 
very  loud  in  the  old  woman's  best  ear ;  but  he 
did  not  call  her  wife.  Her  father  had  died,  and 
she  wras  going  to  live  with  them  now ;  this  was 
all  the  explanation  he  gave  of  her  coming.  Old 
Thirsa  was  so  nearly  stone  deaf  that  no  voice 
but  John's  could  make  her  hear,  and  she  paid 
but  little  heed  to  the  visible  language  of  motion 

O          O 

going  on  about  her ;  so  it  may  be  considered 
doubtful  whether  the  fact  of  Emily's  existence, 
to  say  nothing  of  her  marriage  to  Thorn,  had 
ever  reached  her  knowledge.  She  kept  on  sift 
ing  yellow  meal  through  her  fingers  into  the 
great  kettle  of  "suppawn"  she  was  stirring  over 
the  fire ;  but  the  smile  that  accompanied  her 
nod  of  welcome  was  neither  meaningless  nor 
unkind. 

"Try  and  feel  at  home,  Emily,"  John  said 
briefly.  "Make  Aunt  Thirsa  understand,  if 


24  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

you  can,  what  you  would  like  for  your  meals ; 
possibly  you  may  have  to  show  her  how  to 
cook  it.  I  must  go  now.  I  started  a  drove  of 
cattle  south  a  week  ago.  One  of  the  men  came 
back  yesterday,  and  tells  me  they  are  herded  in 
a  field  near  Stone's  Crossing,  and  the  river  is  so 
high  they  can't  ford.  I  am  going  to  help  drive 
them  east  to  the  old  French  road.  Good-by." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

T  TE  was  gone  a  month.  During  that  month 
Emily  found  plenty  of  time  to  plan  the 
routine  of  her  life.  A  part  of  a  day  sufficed 
for  setting  in  order  the  whitewashed  chamber 
assigned  her  as  her  own.  Then  she  tried  to 
help  the  old  housekeeper,  but  all  attempts  in 
that  direction  were  firmly  put  down.  Thirsa 
needed  no  help,  and  would  have  none,  and, 
while  life  and  the  power  of  resistance  lasted, 
would  brook  no  interference  and  no  innovations. 
There  were  corn-cakes,  ham  or  bacon,  and  coffee 
for  breakfast ;  boiled  meat  and  vegetables  for 
dinner ;  suppawn  and  sweet  milk  for  supper.  A 
couple  of  quiet,  stolid  farm  hands  sat  down 
regularly  to  the  table.  Sometimes  Emily  took 
her  meals  with  them,  sometimes  alone.  She 
was  allowed  to  do  her  own  washing  and  ironing. 
The  family  washing  was  done  at  sundry  times 
and  in  divers  manners,  as  were  also  the  churn 
ing,  bread-making,  soap-boiling,  &c. 

Having  little  to  do  indoors,  Emily  roamed 
abroad,  making  the  acquaintance  of  many  a  wild 

25 


26  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

and  lovely  nook,  with  the  sure  aptitude  of  one 
whose  love  of  nature  is  a  birth-gift.  She  ex 
plored  Thorn's  farm  with  deep  interest.  There 
were  strong,  dark  fields,  slowly  maturing  their 
crops  of  wheat  and  corn.  There  were  acres 
of  level  meadow,  waving  with  red-top  and 
timothy,  that  had  been  reclaimed  by  drainage 
from  the  wildest  swamp.  And  beyond  the 
meadows  lay  a  stretch  of  heavy  timber  that 
on  one  side  thinned  away  into  breezy  oak- 
openings. 

"  He  was  rich  enough  before,"  thought  Emily  ; 
"  yet  how  much  he  must  have  wanted  that  bit 
of  money ! " 

Then  she  wandered  down  to  the  tannery  on 
the  brook.  There  was  a  long  frame  building  in 
which  Bay  less,  the  currier,  worked.  There  was 
also  a  small  cabin  a  few  rods  distant,  where  the 
currier  lived  with  his  Avife  and  children.  Davy 
Eansom  lived  with  them,  having  no  relatives  of 
his  own.  The  tan-pits  were  enclosed  by  a  strong 
fence  and  a  locked  gate,  and  beyond  the  pit-yard 
was  the  bark-shed,  containing  a  vast  pile  of  oak 
bark  —  cords  upon  cords  of  it,  stacked  up  to 
dry.  Beside  the  shed  was  the  bark-mill,  and 
in  it  she  found  Davy  Ramson,  and  was  glad 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  27 

to  find  him ;  she  wanted  to  hear  some  one  talk, 
and  Davy  was  quite  willing  to  accommodate 
her. 

"He's  a  first-rate  tanner,  John  Thorn  is,  but 
he  don't  work  much  in.  the  curryin'  shop  now ; 
don't  have  no  time.  Don't  have  no  time  to  farm 
it  much,  either.  Funny  thing  when  a  feller's 
got  so  much  to  do  he  can't  do  nothin'.  John 's 
a  mighty  good  boss,  though ;  keeps  the  best  of 
tools,  and  everything  handy.  He  buys  hides 
and  sells  leather,  and,  since  Truesdale  's  been 
around,  he  's  taken  to  buy  in'  cattle  and  drovin' 
'em  east.  He  bought  his  first  drove  of  Trues 
dale.  The  woods  is  all  alive  with  cattle,  and 
Truesdale  takes  'em  for  swamp  land.  Some  of 
Truesdale's  folks  got  holt  of  most  a  hull  town 
ship  of  wet  land  onct.  They  lived  'way  off  in 
York  State  and  never  see  the  land,  ony  a  shark- 
in'  agent  put  it  onto  'ern.  It  was  willed  to 
Truesdale,  and  he's  been  out  here,  livin' 
down  to  New  Madrid,  sellin'  of  it  off.  The 
county's  ditched,  part  of  it,  and  he  sells 
sharp,  and  they  say  he  's  goin'  to  get  rich 
out  of  it  yet.  He  takes  lots  of  cattle  for  pay. 
The  woods  is  just  alive  with  cattle  'round  here. 
They  gets  mired,  and  trees  fall  on  'em,  and  the 


28  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

rattlers  bite  'em,  and  then  off  comes  their  hides 
off,  'n  John  Thorn  buys  'em,  for  a  chew  of  plug, 
so  t'  speak,  and  chucks  'em  in  them  ole  vats. 
That 's  the  way  he  gets  his  money  back.  They're 
a  hull  team  —  Thorn  and  Truesdale  —  and  a 
brindle  dog  under  the  wagon." 

The  bark-mill  was  under  a  large  circular  shed. 
The  axle  of  the  drive-wheel  was  a  vertical  shaft 
reaching  from  the  floor  to  a  cross-beam  under 
the  roof.  From  a  joint  on  this  shaft,  something 
higher  than  a  tall  man's  head,  a  long  arm  or 
sweep  extended,  dipping  slightly  downward, 
till  the  strap  at  its  end  could  be  attached  to  the 
harness  of  a  fat  old  horse,  which  plodded  around 
a  smooth  track,  with  the  contemplative  air  of  a 
studious  person  walking  for  exercise.  It  was 
Davy's  work  to  break  up  the  strips  of  dry  bark 
over  the  edge  of  the  iron  hopper,  while  old 
Charley's  deliberate  promenade  ground  it  to  the 
required  fineness. 

"I  like  that  work  of  yours,"  said  Emily;  "I 
believe  I  could  do  it." 

"  I  '11  bet  you  could.     Want  to  try  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Davy  stood  aside,  and  Emily  took  the  light 
wooden  mallet  and  slowly  chipped  the  brittle 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  29 

bark,  watching  it  fall  among  the  rusty  cog 
wheels.  Presently  she  said, 

"  Whenever  I  feel  like  doing  anything,  I  in 
tend  to  come  down  here  and  grind  bark." 

When  Thorn  returned,  he  approached  his 
home  by  way  of  the  tannery.  He  rode  quite 
close  to  the  bark-mill  and  surprised  Eniily  at 
her  novel  employment. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Because  I  want  to,"  she  replied.  "  I  like  it. 
I  intend  to  grind  bark  a  great  deal,  but  Davy 
must  always  stay  close  by,  to  carry  the  strips 
from  the  shed,  and  take  it  off  my  hands  when  I 
get  tired." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  master  of  the  place  ; 
"you  may  grind  all  the  bark  in  the  shed,  if  it 
pleases  you."  And  he  rode  on  to  the  house. 

Thorn  had  accompanied  his  drove  to  the  State 
line  mainly  for  the  sake  of  giving  Emily  a  little 
time  in  which  to  become  used  to  her  new  sur 
roundings,  unembarrassed  by  his  presence.  lie 
wanted  time  to  think  things  over,  too,  and  he 
could  always  think  best  on  horseback. 

He  had  loved  the  beautiful  Scotch  girl  for  a 
long  time ;  he  could  not  distinctly  recall  the 
first  beginning.  When  he  became  aware  that  all 


30  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

the  zest  of  action,  all  the  sweetness  of  living 
had  its  spring  in  the  thought  of  her,  he  remem 
bered,  also,  that  he  had  unfortunately  secured 
her  bitter  aversion.  He  took  no  steps  to  over 
come  this,  because  he  did  not  know  what  steps 
to  take.  When  he  saw  that  her  father's  end 
was  near,  he  followed  an  impulse  and  secured 
her  to  himself,  with  the  hope  that  in  the  sun  of 
his  unfailing  kindness,  the  snows  of  her  dislike 
would  one  day  melt,  carrying  away,  as  with  a 
spring  flood,  the  strange  barriers  between  them. 
On  that  long,  solitary  homeward  ride,  John 
asked  himself  why  it  was  that  this  hope  was 
so  near  dead,  that  it  lay  on  his  soul  writh  a 
bitter  weight.  Emily  had  given  him  no  volun 
tary  sign  that  she  was  ever  any  nearer  to  him 
than  now  ;  yet  he  felt  sure  that  once,  for  a 
few  days,  she  had  been  nearer.  He  could 
recall  nothing  but  that  faint  color-change, 
which  had  twice  marked  his  approach.  Yes, 
and  that  day  when  she  gave  him  her  hand  be 
fore  the  justice,  it  had  lain  with  a  soft  willing 
ness  in  his,  which  it  thrilled  him  to  remember. 
Then  came  the  counting  of  that  money  at  her 
father's  bedside.  "When  he  next  scanned  her 
face  it  had  hardened  into  the  look  of -quiet  scorn 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  31 

which  it  had  worn  ever  since.  He  readily 
divined  th^  process  of  her  thought,  and  he 
chafed  bitterly  over  the  disadvantage  at  which 
she  held  him.  For  the  present  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  done,  he  thought,  only  to  give  his 
captive  the  length  of  a  long  tether. 

"  If  I  could  see  her  have  some  joyous,  care 
free,  girlish  years,  I  would  be  content." 

So  spoke  the  good  angel  in  him. 

"At  all  events  I  shall  not  be  slain  by  ever 
seeing  her  the  wife  of  another." 

Thus  spoke  the  man.     And — . 

"I  will  keep  and  hold  her  fast,  till  death  parts 
us,  though  we  are  never  aught  but  a  blight  and 
a  curse  to  each  other  ! " 

Thus  the  demon.  The  three  contended  for 
the  mastery  within  him  over  all  those  miles  of 
forest  and  open  country,  till  he  reached  his 
home,  worn  out  in  body  and  spirit. 

A  day  or  two  after  his  return,  Thorn  met 
Emily  coming  out  of  the  gate  with  a  bundle  in 
her  arms. 

"  Where  may  you  be  going,  and  what  have 
you  there?"  he  smilingly  asked. 

She  opened  one  end  of  her  package  and 
showed  him  the  contents, — a  set  of  fine,  small- 


32  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

figured  chintz  bed-curtains,  that  had  been  her 
mother's. 

"I  am  going  to  Squire  Wycoff's.  His  wife 
is  going  to  help  me  make  a  dress  out  of  this 
stuff.  She  was  here  the  other  day." 

"  You  can  have  new  stuff  for  dresses,  Emily, 
as  many  as  you  wish,"  said  John. 

"But  I  like  this  ;  it  will  be  pretty." 

She  was  about  passing  him,  but  he  stopped 
her  in  the  gateway  and  said  gently, 

"I  wish,  Emily,  you  would  let  me  buy  you 
something  handsome  to  wear ;  a  new  gown  — 
anything  you  might  like." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  but  I  can  get  my  own 
things,"  she  answered,  with  a  flash  of  childish 
petulance.  "  I  am  not  quite  poverty-stricken. 
I  believe  my  father  left  me  the  land ;  it  shall  be 
sold,  so  that  I  can  have  money  for  clothes  and 
books.  I  intend  to  read  a  good  deal." 

John  still  barred  the  gateway. 

"That  money,  Emily,  out  of  the  old  tree  — 
I  wish  the  lightning  had  struck  it !  —  I  will  pour 
it  in  your  lap  this  hour,  if  you  will  take  it.     It 
is  rightfully  yours." 

"It  is  not  mine,  and  I  would  not  touch  it." 

"I  will  sink  it  in  the  lake,  or  bury  it  in  the 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  33 

earth,  so  deep  that  no  man  can  ever  see  it  again, 
if  you  will  only  trust  me  —  try  to  like  me  a 
little." 

She  gave  him  one  quick  startled  look,  then  cast 
a  glance  around,  as  if  seeking  some  pathway  of 
escape.  lie  moved  aside  from  the  gate,  and  she 
passed  out  with  rapid  steps  and  averted  face. 

For  some  distance  she  walked  rapidly,  with 
her  mind  in  a  state  of  strong  agitation  ;  but  this 
feeling  presently  passed  away.  Her  inward 
rage  over  the  mean  advantage  she  supposed 
Thorn  to  have  taken  of  her  when  he  hurried 
her  into  marriage  had  subsided  during  the 
weeks  of  his  absence  ;  and  her  dislike  was  as 
quiet,  if  a  little  deeper,  than  formerly.  He  had 
certainly  improved  her  situation  by  bringing  her 
to  his  house  on  the  hill,  from  which  she  could 
have  an  airy  view  of  more  cleared  space  than 
from  any  other  point  in  many  miles.  She  liked 
these  glimpses  of  airy  distance  as  well  as  she 
liked  the  depths  of  forest  gloom  in  which  she 
could  lose  herself  whenever  she  wished.  Simply 
to  go  where  she  pleased,  do  what  she  pleased, 
as  John  had  promised,  was  all  she  at  present 
desired.  It  was  glorious  liberty  after  many 
months  of  bondage.  She  did  not  fear  that  he 


34  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

would  lay  constraint  upon  her  or  violate  his 
word.  He  was  no  promise-breaker  ;  she  some 
how  felt  secure  in  that.  And  her  life  had  been 
too  solitary ;  she  was  altogether  too  untaught  to 
understand  the  unnaturalness  of  her  position  in 
Thorn's  house. 

She  spent  several  days  at  Mr.  Wycoff 's  house. 
The  schoolmaster  was  at  home  and  talked  with 
her  a  good  deal.  He  seemed  to  be  studying 
her.  To  his  wife,  Emily  was  a  puzzle.  One 
day  the  affectionate  Katy  went  up  to  her  as  she 
sat  sewing,  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  asked  the  girl 
blankly. 

"Because  I  felt  like  it,"  responded  Mrs. 
Wycoff.  "  Is  it  possible  you  were  never  kissed 
in  your  life  before  !  " 

Emily  thought  a  moment,  and  said  calmly, 

"I  believe  I  never  was  ;  not  that  I  remember." 

From  Jared,  Katy  received  instructions  not 
to  talk  much  about  Mr.  Thorn,  and  not  to  mani 
fest  the  slightest  feminine  curiosity  about  this 
strange  young  bride's  emotions. 

"  She  is  nothing  but  a  beautiful  grown-up 
child,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OHE  never  works,  as  anybody  knows  of," 
said  old  Mrs.  Wycoff  on  the  occasion  of 
that  first  visit  at  Mrs.  Kitzmiller's  ;  "  only  to 
fool  'round  the  bark-mill  once  in  a  while,  pre- 
tendin'  to  help  grind  bark.  Yes,  and  she  sews 
a  little,  but  Jared's  wife  makes  all  her  dresses." 

"  Land  knows  they  're  plain  enough  ;  she  might 
make  'em  herself,"  said  Mrs.  Henry  WycoiF. 
"But  they're  just  a  little  bit  alike,  Mis'  Thorn 
and  Katy,  and  I  guess  they  like  to  be  together. 
You  see  my  sister-in-law  ain't  a  bit  sociable, 
like  I  be.  When  Jared's  gone  she  stays  right 
to  home,  to  keep  things  straight,  she  says ;  and 
when  he's  there, no  mortal  could  coax  her  to  go 
visitin',  not  if  'twas  to  Queen  Victory's.  She 
sets  such  store  by  that  poor  feller  !  " 

"  Katy 's  a  good  wife  and  Jared  'predates 
her,"  said  Mother  Wycoff  warmly.  "In  that 
respect  you  '11  not  find  much  resemblance  atween 
her  and  Emily  Thorn.  And  that  makes  me 
think  of  another  queer  trick  of  Mis'  Thorn's. 
She 's  gone  to  school  every  blessed  winter  since 

35 


36  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

she 's  married — two  winters  now — just  like  the 
young  ones !  Jared  says  she  could  read  and 
write  pretty  well  when  she  first  come  ;  but  now 
she 's  fur  ahead  of  any  other  scholar  in  the  dis 
trict.  She's  studyin'  some  high-school  books 
now,  like  Jared  studied  at  that  big  'cademy  in 
York  State." 

"John  Thorn's  got  a  decent  common  edica- 
tion  hisself,"  said  Mrs.  Spiller,  "an'  I  guess  he 
didn't  want  his  wife  to  be  too  ign'ant.  Now, 
my  man  says  it's  enough  for  a  woman  if  she 
can  sign  a  deed  or  morgitch  without  havin'  to 
make  her  mark." 

"  I  reckon  John  don't  hev  much  to  say  about 
Emily's  goin'  to  school  or  lettin'  it  alone,"  said 
Mrs.  Aaron  Waldo.  "  I  've  an  idee  his  wantin' 
her  to  do  a  thing  would  be  a  pretty  strong 
reason  with  her  for  not  doin'  it.  They  must  be 
hangin'  on  from  sheer  contrairiness.  Every 
body  's  been  expectin'  'em  to  part  for  a  year 
past.  It's  not  'cordin'  to  the  kestom  of  the 
kentry  for  folks  to  live  as  they  do." 

"Speakin'  about  Mis'  Thorn's  plain  dresses," 
said  Mrs.  Henry  Wycoft',  "I  asked  her  one  day 
at  Katy's  why  she  'most  always  wore  gray  flan 
nel.  She  said  because  it  did  n't  drabble  at  the 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  37 

bottom  like  cotton  did.  You  see  she  always 
brings  up  the  cows  for  the  milkin',  and  then 
she  takes  everlastin'  long  walks  besides ;  goes 
away  down  to  the  long  crossway,  'n  that's 
more'n  a  mile.  I  asked  her  why  she  didn't 
hev  her  things  trimmed  up  a  little,  with  flounces 
or  a  kitterin'  piece  round  the  bottom  ;  'n  she 
said  she'd  taken  a  hint  from  a  remark  Mr. 
Truesdale  made  wunst.  He  had  lived  a  good 
deal  in  cities,  and  he  said  there  wras  no  use  o' 
country  folks  try  in'  to  foller  the  fashions,  fur 
they  couldn't  ony  come  near  enough  to  be 
redic'lous.  If  they  ony  knew  it,  they  would 
appear  much  better,  to  'dopt  some  very  simple 
dress  and  stick  to  it.  So  she  always  has  her 
dresses  made  with  a  plain  skirt  that  just  shows 
her  feet,  and  a  long,  ruther  tight-fittin'  sack  with 
plain  coat-sleeves.  She  has  a  lot  of  old-fash 
ioned  English  dimity  that  was  her  mother's,  and 
out  o'  that  she  hems  ruffles  for  her  neck.  She 
give  Katy  a  lot  o'  them  ruffles  and  some  fine 
linen  han'kerchers  with  colored  borders  that  '11 
wash  forever." 

"Doesn't  it  beat  everythin',"  said  Mrs.  Frost, 
"to  think  of  her  speakin'  in  that  open  way  of 
Truesdale  !  You  know  " — this  in  a  lower  tone 


38  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

to  Mrs.  Kitzmillcr — "  they  Ve  been  seen  walkin' 
along  the  road,  visitin'  away  as  though  they 
enjoyed  it.  And  Truesdule  goes  to  Thorn's 
oftener  than  there 's  any  need  of  to  see  about  a 
few  head  of  critters  he  's  got  pasturin'  on  John's 
fields.  John 's  'most  always  away,  now'days  ; 
to  be  sure  the  old  woman 's  around,  but  she 's 
deafer  'n  two  posts." 

"Most  likely,"  said  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  with  an 
honest  impulse  to  defend  the  absent,  "  she 
spoke  openly  of  this  Mr.  Truesdale,  who,  I 
believe,  is  a  sort  of  partner  of  her  husband's, 
because  she  had  nothing  to  conceal.  It  would 
look  that  way  to  me." 

After  this  neighborly  visitation  Olive  felt  an 
unaccountable  desire  to  see  and  know  Mrs. 
Thorn.  She  was  so  young  and  had  suffered  so 
much.  Her  husband  took  her  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  money,  and  there  was  nothing  but  hatred 
between  them.  Her  neighbors  distrusted  her, 
very  probably  without  reason.  And  then  she 
was  so  beautiful ;  they  all  agreed  about  that  — 
no  one  was  ever  prettier  !  They  had  spoken  of 
her  taking  long  walks,  and  that  awoke  a  fellow 
feeling  in  Olive ;  for  it  was  her  chief  delight, 
when  her  household  tasks  were  finished,  to  roam 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  39 

far  and  free,  looking  for  some  pretty  place  or 
thing,  or,  as  the  mood  urged  her,  for  the  rough 
est,  wildest  nook  in  all  the  region.  What  if 
she  should  some  day  meet  Mrs.  Thorn  !  For 
once  a  wish  came  true. 

It  was  on  a  sultry  afternoon  in  May.  There 
had  been  showers  the  night  before,  and  Olive 
went  out  to  look  for  mushrooms,  where  the 
branches  of  the  beech  trees  grew  broad  and 
low.  She  found  none,  and  returned  to  the 
road  just  as  Emily  Thorn  emerged  from  the 
woods  on  the  opposite  side.  Their  eyes  met, 
and  Olive's  fell  with  the  embarrassment  which 
is  natural  upon  meeting  suddenly  one  about 
whom  we  have  been  thinking  much. 

"  You  are  the  daughter  of  our  new  neighbor, 
I  believe,"  said  the  tall  woman  in  the  gray 
dress.  Olive  nodded  bashfully,  and  the  other 
continued,  — 

"I  would  offer  to  shake  hands,  but  I  have 
been  grubbing  for  these  roots  for  Aunt  Thirsa  ;" 
and  she  showed  her  hand,  much  soiled  with 
black  earth,  and  holding  a  bunch  of  Indian  tur 
nips  by  the  tops. 

"  I  was  looking  for  mushrooms,"  said  Olive, 
but  I  did  not  find  any." 


40  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"Ah,  I  thought  they  were  truffles.  I  like 
them,  too,  but  Aunt  Thirsa,  who  keeps  house 
for  us,  will  not  allow  them  to  be  cooked." 

"Why  have  you  never  called  to  see  us?" 
asked  Olive  impulsively. 

"I  might  have  called,"  said  Emily,  "but  I 
do  not  make  calls  or  visits.  We  have  a  queer 
sort  of  home  —  Aunt  Thirsa  being  so  very 
deaf —  and  people  do  not  seem  to  care  about 
coming  to  us.  I  only  go  to  Squire  Wycoff's ; 
they  are  all  the  friends  I  have." 

She  said  this  with  the  manner  of  one  who 
must  go  to  the  extreme  of  allowable  frank 
ness,  inasmuch  as  there  was  still  a  world  of 
reserve  in  her  life,  which  must  not  be  broken 
in  upon. 

"I  wish  I  might  be  your  friend,"  said  Olive. 
Emily  turned  upon  her  a  look  of  grave  wonder, 
which  softened  into  tenderness. 

"You  may,  dear  child,"  she  said;  "there  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  be.  I  will  call 
upon  your  mother  and  3*011  to-morrow." 

Olive  had  not  thought  to  look  for  the  beauty 
of  which  she  had  heard  so  much,  but  now  Emily 
stopped  in  her  walk  and  took  off  her  rye-straw 
hat  to  fan  herseif.  The  slanting  sun-rays  came 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  41 

through  the  trees  and  touched  her  light-brown 
hair,  turning  it  to  rippled  gold.  Olive  noted  the 
rich  effect.  She  noted  also  the  pure,  rose- white 
complexion,  the  glowing  lips,  and  the  dark 
hazel  eyes  beneath  brows  and  lashes  almost 
black.  Her  face  was  bright  and  animated,  but 
as  yet  she  had  not  smiled.  Olive  wondered  how 
sweet  a  thing  her  smile  might  be  ! 

The  call  was  made ;  a  very  short  one,  for 
Emily  brought  no  knitting  or  patch-work,  and 
Mrs.  Kitzmiller  failed  to  interest  her  in  the 
sowing  of  late  peas  and  the  difficulty  of  rearing 
young  turkeys  when  the  season  was  inclined  to 
wetness.  Emily  seemed  very  much  in  earnest 
when  she  begged  that  Olive  might  come  to  see 
her  soon. 

"To-morrow  or  the  next  day,  please,"  she 
urged,  with  the  wonderful  smile  for  which  Olive 
had  been  watching. 

"  She  is  as  good  as  the  best  of  us,"  declared 
Mrs.  Kitzmiller  to  her  husband  that  evening. 
"I'll  venture  she's  had  a  good  mother,  what 
ever  the  old  man  might 'a'  been.  I  found  out 
she  was  baptized  in  infancy,  and  when  I  offered 
her  a  catechism,  one  of  the  small  ones  in  purple 
covers,  she  said  she  'd  like  it  as  a  present  from 


42  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

me,  but  she  knew  that  book  by  heart  before  she 
was  twelve  years  old.  Just  think  of  that !  And 
her  face  is  as  innocent  as  a  baby's.  She  seems 
lonesome,  poor  thing,  and  has  taken  wonder 
fully  to  our  Ollie." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  long  weeks  of 
almost  constant  companionship  between  Olive 
and  Emily.  From  the  first  they  treated  each 
other  with  the  affectionate  freedom  of  enthusi 
astic  girl  friends.  Olive  never  manifested  the 
slightest  interest  about  the  strange  married  life 
of  the  other.  Between  them  Mr.  Thorn  was 
tacitly  ignored.  When  they  chanced  to  be 
thrown  in  his  company  —  which  was  not  often, 
for  he  seldom  entered  his  own  house,  except  for 
meals — both  labored  under  the  same  constraint, 
and  were  equally  glad  to  get  free  from  him  and 
it.  His  manner  toward  them  was  superior  and 
rather  ironical.  He  sometimes  addressed  Olive 
as  Miss  Kitz,  or  made  some  playful  remark  to 
Emily,  of  which  she  took  slight  notice.  It  was 
not  uncommon,  however,  for  him  to  openly 
avoid  meeting  them  ;  or  to  look  at  and  past 
them,  out  of  cold,  dark  eyes  that  had  in  them 
no  sign  of  kindly  recognition.  Emily  had  no 
ticed  that  strange  look  only  since  his  illness. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  43 

In  the  spring,  shortly  before  the  Kitzmillers 
came,  Thorn  hud  had  a  sharp  attack  of  pneu 
monia.  He  had  gone  to  Fort  Wayne  to  make 
sale  of  a  quantity  of  leather,  and  returned  home 
very  ill.  He  went  up  to  his  room,  bed-chamber 
and  office  combined,  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
currier's  shop,  and  sent  Davy  Ransom  for  a 
doctor.  He  lay  there  for  three  weeks,  suffer 
ing  much,  and  attended  upon  at  odd  intervals  by 
Mrs.  Bay  less  and  Aunt  Thirsa.  From  the  first 
he  had  felt  a  yearning  desire  to  have  Emily 
come  and  wait  upon  him  with  a  wife's  thought 
ful  care.  In  his  utter  prostration  of  strength 
and  will  he  thought  he  could  gladly  die  if  she 
would  first  come  close  to  his  side,  smile  upon 
him,  and  touch  him  with  her  hands.  Through 
long,  feverish  days  he  lay  with  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  door,  expecting  her  to  enter.  Surely  some 
humane,  womanly  impulse  would  lead  her  to 
visit  him,  he  thought;  and  when  night  came, 
bringing  only  disappointment,  the  groans  that 
rent  the  lonely  darkness  came  more  surely  from 
the  wounded  heart  of  the  man  than  from  the 
agonized  chest  in  which  it  labored.  Perhaps  it 
was  unreasonable  that  he  should  expect  her,  not 
having  given  her  in  any  way  to  understand  that 


44  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

her  presence  was  desired,  but  sickness  and  love 
are  both  proverbially  unreasonable.  As  it  was, 
she  never  went  near  him ;  and  he  arose  from 
his  illness  and  resumed  the  usual  ways  of  life 
with  a  germ  of  bitterness  in  his  heart  against 
her. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"TOURING  the  early  summer  Emily  and  Olive 
-^^were  almost  constantly  out  of  doors.  One 
of  their  favorite  haunts  was  the  long  causeway 
that  ran  through  the  jack-oak  swamp.  It  was  a 
corduroy  or  pole  bridge,  upon  which  earth  had 
been  thrown  till  it  formed  a  high,  hard  road.  A 
narrow  ditch  ran  along  either  side,  in  which  the 
water  rippled  pleasantly,  till  it  emptied  into  the 
big  ditch,  which  cut  the  swamp  at  right  angles 
with  the  bridge,  about  midway  of  the  latter.  It 
was  indeed  a  mighty  ditch,  such  as  have  been 
made  at  public  expense  in  many  parts  of  this 
marshy  country.  Its  black  sides,  eight  feet 
apart  at  the  top,  sloped  down,  a  distance  of  five 
feet,  to  within  fifty  inches  of  each  other  at  the 
bottom ;  and  the  current  of  water  that  coursed 
through  it  would  have  turned  a  mill  had  there 
been  sufficient  fall.  Here,  where  the  ditch  made 
its  wide  sluice  under  the  causeway,  was  a  favor 
ite  resting-place  for  Olive  and  her  new  friend. 
An  old  jack-oak  grew  there,  with  one  horizontal 
branch  for  a  seat,  and  another  in  perfect  position 

45 


46  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

for  a  back  to  that  seat.  The  two  lithe  girls 
would  cross  the  little  ditch  with  a  bound,  and 
swing  themselves  up  to  this  rustic  perch,  out  of 
reach  of  snakes,  and  within  reach  of  the  wild 
birds'  songs,  and  every  richly  scented  breeze 
that  blew,  and  chat  and  sing  for  hours.  Mrs. 
Kitzmiller  was  alwa}rs  promising  Olive  the  ague, 
but  she  would  reply  that  some  people  did  not 
take  the  ague,  and  she  was  sure  she  would  not. 
Strange  to  say  she  did  not. 

One  afternoon  they  had  taken  a  long  walk, 
and  were  sauntering  slowly  down  the  causeway 
in  the  homeward  direction.  There  had  been 
heavy  rains,  and  a  torrent  was  pouring  through 
the  great  ditch,  leaving  flecks  of  white  foam  on 
its  inky  sides. 

"  How  low  and  level  all  this  region  seems," 
said  Emily,  "yet  wre  are  at  the  very  summit 
of  the  country ;  right  among  the  water-sources. 
I  could  sail  a  ship  in  this  ditch,  on  a  voyage 
to  the  Atlantic ;  for,  you  know,  this  water 
has  its  outlet  through  the  Elkhart  and  St. 
Joseph  rivers,  into  Lake  Michigan.  And  I 
could  sail  another  on  Half  Moon  Lake,  only 
a  mile  south,  which  would  find  its  way 
through  small  streams  into  the  Wabash,  and 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  47 

on  through  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi,  to  the 
great  Gulf." 

"Who  told  you  that? "asked  Olive.  "Did 
Mr.  Wycoff  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Emily;  "why  might  I  not  have 
learned  it  in  my  geography?" 

"Because  the  big  ditch  isn't  down  on  the 
map,"  said  Olive,  laughing. 

"  Neither  it  is,  and  somebody  did  tell  me,  one 
beautiful  day,  just  about  a  year  ago.  He  has 
told  me  many  other  things,  for  he  is  much  wiser 
than  even  Jared  AVycoff'.  Poor  .Tared  knows 
only  what  he  has  learned  in  books,  but  Mr. 
Truesdale  seems  to  have  been  everywhere,  and 
to  have  seen  everything;  If  we  wait  here,  we 
will  see  him,  for  there  is  his  horse's  track.  He 
has  gone  north  since  the  shower  this  morning, 
and  will  be  returning  presently." 

"Let  us  go  home  at  once,"  said  Olive ;  "  I  do 
not  want  to  see  anyone." 

"T\re  will  stop  and  let  him  pass  us,"  said 
Emily,  "  for  he  is  coming  now." 

Looking  northward,  through  the  vista  of 
black-oaks,  pussy-willows,  and  wild-rose  bushes, 
they  saw  a  man  approaching  on  a  large  red 
horse.  He  was  with  them  almost  immediately. 


48  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Olive  glanced  up  and  received  a  smiling  saluta 
tion,  as  Emily  introduced  them,  in  a  quaint 
little  fashion  of  her  own. 

"  And  this  is  Sandy,"  said  Emily,  caressing  the 
great  horse's  Roman  nose.  "Isn't  he  a  beauty? 
Mr.  Truesdale  let  me  name  him,  so  I  called  him 
Sandy,  because  it's  Scotch,  and  just  suits  his 
color." 

Olive  let  her  glance  ascend  from  the  high- 
topped  riding-boot,  almost  on  a  range  with  her 
head,  over  a  slight,  strong  frame,  to  a  brown, 
clear-cut,  handsome  face,  whose  dark  eyes  rested 
on  Emily  with  a  look  of  such  intense  and  tender 
admiration  that  even  simple  little  Olive  could 
not  misunderstand  it.  He  lingered  a  few 
moments,  while  Emily  fastened  a  handful  of 
plumy  ferns  in  Sandy's  headstall  with  nice  care ; 
then  he  bowed  to  both  and  rode  on. 

Truesdale's  acquaintance  with  Emily  began 
soon  after  her  marriage.  He  met  her  first  at 
Squire  Wycoff's,  where  she  stayed  a  good  deal 
that  first  year.  Wycoff  framed  deeds  and  other 
papers  in  connection  with  Truesdale's  land  sales, 
and  his  cabin  was  his  only  office.  Truesdale  had 
frequent  business  with  John  Thorn,  and  between 
the  two  places  he  met  Emily  frequently.  She 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  49 

was  very  silent  with  him  at  first ;  this  piqued 
his  interest.  He  exerted  himself  to  entertain 
her,  to  impress  on  her  the  fact  of  his  personality. 
By  slow  steps  he  drew  her  on  to  speak  of  her 
self;  of  her  home  in  Scotland;  of  the  school 
she  had  attended  there  in  childhood ;  of  the 
kirk  where  her  mother  took  the  children  every 
Sunday,  and  the  kirk-yard  with  its  mossy  stone 
wall,  inside  which  two  baby  sisters  slept.  She 
told  him  all  she  could  remember  of  the  sea 
voyage,  and  of  the  few  weeks  she  had  spent  in 
Brooklyn  with  some  Scottish  acquaintance  of 
her  parents ;  but  when  it  came  to  their  settle 
ment  in  the  wild  woods,  and  the  dreadful  years 
that  followed,  she  was  silent. 

In  return  for  her  small  disclosures,  he  spoke 
of  his  own  past  history  ;  and  the  glimpses  thus 
revealed  made  her  know  that  there  was  another 
and  broader  world  than  she  had  ever  looked 
into.  Her  acquaintance  with  this  man  was  part 
of  the  education  that  had  made  of  her,  in  the 
space  of  two  years,  a  vastly  different  person 
from  the  phenomenally  unsophisticated  girl  that 
married  John  Thorn.  Truesdale's  conversation, 
even  more  than  Jared  Wycoff's  books,  had 
changed  her. 


50  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Davy  Ransom  had  given  Emily,  that  day  in 
the  bark-mill,  the  correct  explanation  of  Horace 
Truesdale's  presence  in  New  Madrid.  He  had 
come  to  Indiana  to  sell  off'  his  land ;  that  busi 
ness  had  progressed  beyond  his  first  expectation. 
He  had  traded  and  sold,  until  but  little  of  the 
swampy  tracts  of  his  original  ownership  re 
mained  on  his  hands.  In  his  extensive  rides 
over  the  country  he  had  spied  out  other  and 
more  desirable  lots,  and  purchased  them  on 
speculation.  During  his  residence  in  the  west 
he  had  sloughed  off  whatever  of  conventionality 
he  had  brought  with  him.  He  wore  colored 
flannel  shirts  and  a  slouch  hat ;  and  his  boots,  if 
of  a  trifle  better  leather,  were  thick-soled  and 
high-topped  as  those  of  the  veriest  Hoosier  of 
them  all.  He  was  an  epitome  of  contradictions, 
physical  and  moral.  He  had  a  slight  frame, 
surmounted  by  a  large  head,  and  a  face  indica 
tive  of  nervous  force,  but  not  of  physical  en 
durance.  Yet  his  small,  brown  hand  had  a  grip 
of  steel,  and  he  could  stand  his  share  of  ex 
posure  and  hardship  with  the  toughest  of  the 
drovers  and  trappers  with  whom  he  came  in  con 
tact.  He  was  at  home  with  rough  men  in  rough 
places ;  yet  nothing  like  coarseness,  or  even 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  51 

commonness,  ever  tarnished  his  speech  or  man 
ners.  His  high  breeding  was  as  much  a  part  of 
him  as  the  distinct,  mellow  tones  of  his  voice, 
or  the  keen,  half  humorous,  yet  sympathetic 
glance  of  his  eye. 

He  had  no  need  to  acquire  a  liking  for  wild 
woods  and  wild  wrays.  In  youth  he  had  been 
"a  roving  lad,  who  thought  his  home  a  cage." 
He  had  been  properly  restrained,  sent  through 
college  and  graduated  in  medicine ;  but  he  had 
never  practised  his  profession  a  day,  and  did  not 
intend  to.  He  loved  books,  good  poetry  es 
pecially  ;  but  he  loved  a  gun  as  well.  He  loved 
also,  of  course,  horses  and  dogs  and  tamed  ani 
mals.  He  loved  women  in  a  broadly  compre 
hensive  manner.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one  he 
engaged  himself  to  a  girl  whom  he  had  known 
from  childhood.  Anna  Grant  seemed  to  him  as 
perfect  a  specimen  of  the  bewitching  sex  to 
which  she  belonged  as  he  would  ever  be  likely 
to  find.  He  was  in  no  haste  to  marry  ;  but  he 
was  careful  of  his  proprieties  and  gave  his  fiancee 
no  grave  cause  of  complaint  as  months  and  years 
slipped  past.  He  was  therefore  blankly  sur 
prised  and  deeply  sorry  when  Miss  Grant  broke 
the  engagement,  saying  she  felt  sure  he  had 


52  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

never  really  loved  her,  and  she  doubted  gravely 
whether  it  was  in  his  nature  to  love  any  woman 
with  sufficient  exclusiveness  to  make  him  a  con 
tented  husband.  He  was  disappointed;  for 
some  day  he  had  intended  to  many,  and  Anna 
suited  him.  Now  he  was  all  unsettled  again, 
and  it  was  a  question  whether  he  would  ever 
marry  at  all.  There  was  a  good  deal  in  life 
without  that  —  money-making,  hunting,  seeing 
life,  studying  individuals,  human  and  other. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

A  FTER  he  came  to  New  Madrid,  his  studies 
in  the  line  of  the  "other"  afforded  him 
endless  amusement,  and  the  other  inmates  of 
the  Hotel  Eounce  infinite  annoyance.  Nothing 
but  Truesdale's  gift  of  popularity  —  that  name 
less  something  which  made  people  always  in 
vest  him  with  a  Joseph's  robe  of  favoritism  — 
saved  him  from  being  ejected  bodily  along  with 
his  happy  family.  His  hounds  were  always 
sprawling  in  the  passages,  or  upsetting  swill- 
pails  in  the  kitchen.  Penelope,  the  tallest  one, 
thought  nothing  of  walking  through  the  dining- 
room  when  the  table  was  set,  and  lifting  from 
the  plate  a  biscuit  or  slice  of  bread.  He  had  a 
tame  owl  and  a  crow  that  were  very  friendly  at 
times,  and  again  would  quarrel  frightfully,  utter 
ing  shrill  cries  of  rage,  and  making  the  feathers 
fly  like  two  furies. 

But  the  most  incorrigible  pest  of  all  was  a  pet 
raccoon.  Sam  Slick  was  his  master's  favorite, 
but  a  favorite  with  no  one  else.  He  was  a  large 
animal  of  his  kind,  fully  two  feet  in  length,  ex- 

53 


54  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

elusive  of  his  bushy  ringed  tail.  He  was  imita 
tive  and  playful  as  a  monkey,  and  seemed  to  be, 
in  the  language  of  the  street,  always  laying  for 
somebody.  If  a  traveller  stopped  off  at  Bounce's 
for  a  day's  shooting,  he  had  to  watch  well  his 
game  bag ;  for  it  was  Sam's  especial  delight  to 
insert  himself  into  such  a  receptacle  and  muti 
late  the  contents.  He  was  very  fond  of  lying 
in  baskets,  and  always  watched  his  sly  chance, 
when  the  clothes  were  brought  in  from  the 
drying-lines,  to  deposit  his  dusty  bulk  upon  the 
top  of  the  snowy  sheets  and  tablecloths. 

On  one  occasion  a  colored  boy  and  another 
"help"  spent  a  long  hot  forenoon  picking  a 
mess  of  delicate  greens  for  the  hotel  table. 
Truesdale  and  others  of  the  boarders  saw  the 
boys  when  they  returned  with  a  large  basket 
ful,  and  were  greatly  rejoiced  thereat.  At 
dinner,  however,  no  greens  appeared,  and, 
when  inquiry  was  made,  Prince,  the  colored 
boy,  explained :  — 

"  Dat  tarnal  'coon  done  spiled  'em.  We  sot 
de  basket  in  de  londry,  till  we  'd  rested  and 
cooled  off  a  spell,  and  when  we  went  to  look 
'em  over,  dere  lay  dat  bloody  critter  on  top  o' 
dcm  cowslops  we  'd  been  all  de  mornin'  pickiu' ! 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  55 

I  shied  de  clothes-pounder  at  him,  and  he 
jumped  about  fo'  rod." 

A  murmur  of  wrath  against  Sam  Slick  went 
around  the  table,  and  again  he  was  threatened 
with  death  in  many  forms. 

At  length  Landlord  Rounce  ventured  to  say  to 
Truesdale  that  if  he  did  not  remove  his  pets 
out  of  the  hotel  he  would  not  be  answerable  for 
their  or  his  own  safety.  This  led  to  the  hiring 
of  a  house  for  the  dogs  and  the  menagerie.  It 
was  a  little  frame  box  near  the  hotel,  owned  by 
a  tailor  named  Hodges.  He  had  originally  in 
tended  using  it  for  a  shop,  but  had  never  gone 
further  at  fitting  it  up  than  to  place  a  long  table 
under  its  best  window,  and  decorate  its  walls 
with  some  obsolete  fashion-plates  and  cutters' 
charts.  Hodges  liked  his  wife,  and  liked  her 
help  in  his  tailoring ;  she  preferred  sitting  at 
home  with  her  sewing,  so  Hodges  usually  sat 
there  with  her. 

Truesdale  found  the  "  shop "  a  great  conveni 
ence  in  the  way  of  unloading  his  crowded  bed 
room  of  old  clothes,  guns,  fishing-tackle,  and 
the  like.  He  sometimes  used  the  tailor's  bench 
as  a  writing-table.  There  was  plenty  of  room 
on  it  for  his  books  and  papers,  as  well  as  for 


56  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

the  gilt  wire  cage  of  his  little  dormouse,  and 
the  larger  wooden  one  of  his  tame  red  squirrels. 
When  he  was  absent  from  the  village,  his  pets 
were  looked  after  by  Susie  Hodges,  the  tailor's 
hoyden  daughter.  In  return  for  this,  Truesdale 
began  to  leave  his  game  at  Hodges',  instead  of 
taking  it  to  the  hotel ;  and  in  return  for  this 
again  he  was  frequently  invited  to  take  supper 
in  the  tailor's  kitchen.  There  was  the  usual 
amount  of  winking  and  coarse  joking  among  the 
village  neighbors  when  this  groAving  friendliness 
was  observed ;  and  before  long  the  assertion 
was  current  that  Sue  Hodges  was  "gone"  after 
Truesdale,  but  that  was  all  the  good  it  would  do 
her.  He  would  go  back  "in  yonder"  when  he 
wanted  to  take  a  wife.  Sue  heard  of  it,  no 
doubt,  but  she  cared  for  the  pets  none  the  less 
faithfully. 

If  she  was  seen  coming  home  from  the  Avoods 
where  she  had  been  digging  ginseng  or  picking 
berries,  with  Mr.  Truesdale  walking  beside  her, 
carrying  her  basket,  she  was  gossipped  about, 
but  not  scandalized.  In  this  primitive  com 
munity,  like  most  other  American  ones,  the 
European  idea  was  reversed ;  and  while  a  mar 
ried  woman  must  "walk  neat"  or  bear  blame,  a 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  57 

girl  under  the  ostensible  oversight  of  her  parents, 
might  do  strange  things  —  almost  anything,  and 
no  damaging  word  be  said.  Until  wrong-doing 
became  an  assured  fact,  she  had  the  full  benefit 
of  charitable  doubt. 

People  grew  used  to  seeing  them  much  to 
gether.  It  was  a  common  thing  for  Truesdale 
to  ride  up  to  Hodges'  door  in  the  early  morning 
with  his  rifle  across  his  saddle-bow  and  his  dogs 
behind  him;  Susie,  watching  for  him,  would 
come  out  with  a  basin  of  parched  corn,  fill  the 
pocket  of  his  blouse  on  one  side,  then  go  around 
and  fill  the  other,  while  he  merrily  told  her 
where  he  expected  to  ride,  and  what  game  she 
might  expect  him  to  bring  back  in  the  evening. 

"  Good-bye,  black-eyed  Susan,"  he  would  say, 
waving  his  whip-hand  as  he  rode  oft*.  And 
"Good-bye"  she  would  answer  back,  sometimes 
saucily,  and  again  with  a  dreamy  cadence,  fol 
lowing  him  with  a  look  of  passionate  devotion 
in  her  dark  face. 

If  Emily  changed  in  the  two  years  imme 
diately  succeeding  her  father's  death,  John 
Thorn  did  also  ;  and  he.  was  not  improved.  No 
man  ever  accused  him  of  injustice  or  meanness, 
but  many  accused  him  of  arrogance  and  harsh- 


58  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

ness.  About  his  home  he  was  taciturn  to 
moroseness,  and  in  the  world  abroad  he  pursued 
his  personal  ends  in  business  and  politics  in  a 
straightforward  manner,  but  often  with  culpable 
indifference  to  the  convenience  and  interests  of 
others. 

The  winter  preceding  the  coming  of  the  Kitz- 
millers  into  the  neighborhood,  Thorn  spent  in 
Indianapolis  as  a  member  of  the  State  Senate. 
He  owed  his  nomination  in  no  small  degree  to 
Truesdale's  efforts  in  the  convention.  Even 
his  best  friends  declared  that  a  man  who  cared 
so  little  to  conciliate  public  favor  would  fail  at 
the  election  ;  but  he  did  not ;  for  in  the  can 
vass  he  manifested  marvellous  ability  in  handling 
his  resources,  and  he  carried  the  senatorial  dis 
trict  handsomely  in  the  end. 

When  he  returned  from  the  Capitol  in  the 
spring,  Emily  met  him  with  more  kindness  than 
she  had  shown  since  entering  his  house.  He 
noticed  it  with  a  rush  of  keen  emotions ;  but  he 
had  schooled  himself  well,  and  considered  it  ex 
pedient  not  to  recognize  at  once  these  relenting 
symptoms,  if  such  they  deserved  to  be  called. 
One  day,  soon  after  his  return,  she  asked  a  favor 
of  him,  and  his  pleasure  in  granting  it  was  great ; 


JOHK  THORN'S  FOLKS.  59 

but  in  his  effort  not  to  let  it  appear,  he  chilled 
her  back  into  her  old,  torpid,  calm  aversion. 
She  had  long  wanted  a  saddle-horse  of  her  own, 
and  one  of  his  selection,  for  that  would  insure 
its  excellence.  When  she  spoke  to  him  about 
it,  he  made  her  scarcely  three  words  of  reply ; 
nevertheless,  within  a  week,  he  called  her  out 
to  admire  a  beautiful  animal,  equipped  with 
costly  and  elegant  trappings.  He  assisted  her 
to  the  saddle  and  let  her  ride  away,  never 
offering  to  accompany  her.  The  horse's  gait 
was  perfect,  and  he  was  gentleness  itself;  so, 
in  a  short  time,  Emily,  though  unused  to  the 
exercise,  rode  with  ease  and  pleasure.  For  a 
while  she  used  her  new  horse  a  good  deal ; 
but  after  she  became  acquainted  with  Olive 
Kitzmiller  she  seemed  to  care  no  more  for  him, 
nor,  indeed,  for  anything  but  her  new  friend. 
She  still  went  occasionally  to  Squire  Wycoff 's, 
but  the  coming  of  a  baby  into  their  small  house 
seemed  to  leave  less  room  for  her  there  than 
formerly. 

In  September  a  startling  incident  occurred. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

/~\NE  afternoon,  the  first  time  in  weeks,  Emily 
ordered  Davy  to  saddle  her  horse.  She 
mounted  him  and  took  a  long  ride.  She  was 
returning  leisurely  in  the  evening,  and  when 
within  a  mile  of  home  some  one  —  a  woman's 
form  —  sprang  up  suddenly  at  the  roadside 
and  darted  across,  waving  a  paw-paw  or  other 
large-leaved  bush  over  her  head.  The  horse 
reared  and  shied,  throwing  Emily  violently, 
then  galloped  home.  Thorn  was  the  first  to 
see  him,  standing  riderless  at  the  gate.  With 
a  wild  horror  at  his  heart  he  leaped  into  the 
saddle  and  retraced  his  tracks.  He  found  Emily 
sitting  by  the  tree  against  which  she  had  been 
thrown,  bruised,  suffering,  and  bewildered. 
He  knelt  beside  her,  and,  for  the  first  time,  took 
her  in  his  arms. 

"Poor  girl — poor  Emily  !  "  he  almost  sobbed. 
"  Your  arm  is  broken  !  How  will  I  get  you 
home?" 

But  Davy  Ransom  had  followed  on  foot  and 
soon  came  up  panting.  By  John's  orders  he 
60 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  61 

rode  the  horse  back  to  the  farm,  and  soon  re 
turned  with  a  light  spring  wagon.  Emily  was 
lifted  in,  half  fainting,  on  a  bed  of  robes  and 
pilloAvs,  and  carefully  driven  home.  When 
they  came  to  the  turning  of  the  road,  Emily 
roused  herself  and  said,  — 

"Take  me  to  Mrs.  Kitzmiller's." 

"  Please  let  me  take  you  home  ! "  John  pleaded. 
"  Why  won't  you  go  home  with  me  ?  " 

"I  shall  die  there,  alone  with  Thirsa." 

"  You  shall  not  be  left  alone  with  her ;  you 
shall  have  a  nurse." 

"  But  I  want  Olive  and  her  mother.  I  want 
nobody  else." 

"Olive  will  come  and  stay  with  you,"  Thorn 
urged  gently  ;  "  O  yes,  you  will  surely  let  us 
take  you  home  !  " 

She  closed  her  eyes  weakly  and  resisted  no 
more.  The  stuffy  little  spare  room  of  Thorn's 
house  was  thrown  open  to  the  fresh  air,  and  a 
bed  made  there  for  Emily.  Davy  was  well  on 
his  way  for  a  doctor,  and  Thorn  went  for  Mrs. 
Kitzmillcr  and  Olive.  After  the  broken  arm 
was  set,  the  doctor  left  quieting  powders  to  be 
given  her,  under  the  influence  of  which  she 
slept  much  for  several  days. 


62  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Olive  remained  with  her  continually  until 
she  was  able  to  sit  up  in  the  arm-chair.  Thorn 
looked  in  often,  but  did  not  remain  long.  Again 
the  hope  of  winning  Emily  into  a  true,  wifely 
relationship  was  rousing  his  pulse-beats  to  a 
jubilant  measure  ;  but  he  had  resolved  upon  a 
course  of  action  from  which  he  was  determined 
no  outward  pressure,  no  inward  impulse,  should 
make  him  swerve.  He  would  extend  to  her 
just  so  much  of  kindly  attention  as  she  seemed 
to  welcome,  and  wait  for  some  definite  intima 
tion  —  it  need  be  very  slight !  —  when  he  might 
begin  to  woo  her  in  lover's  fashion.  He  would 
never  startle  her  again ;  never  let  her  suppose 
for  a  moment  that  he  had  forgotten  the  pledge 
under  which  he  had  induced  her  to  take  his 
name.  He  often  smiled  bitterly  to  himself  over 
that  precious  piece  of  folly.  If  she  had  taken 
shelter  with  the  Wycoff's,  or  lived  alone  in  her 
hut  in  the  forest,  he  might  have  won  her  as 
other  men  win  wives.  He  believed  he  could 
have  done  it ;  now  there  was  a  wall  between 
them  of  his  own  rearing,  which  he  must  not  be 
the  first  to  pull  down. 

Entering  the  room  suddenly  one  morning, 
Olive  saw  John  standing  by  the  bedside  looking 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  63 

at  Emily  asleep.  He  turned  quickly  and  went 
out,  but  she  had  caught  the  expression  of  his 
face.  Once  before  she  had  seen  that  look  upon 
it.  On  a  certain  warm  Sunday  in  July  she  had 
arisen  from  a  long  nap  with  a  great  desire  in 
her  heart  for  Emily,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for 
two  days.  She  did  not  go  directly  to  the  house, 
but  followed  the  course  of  the  brook  till  she 
came  to  the  tannery  buildings.  There  were  no 
men  about  there  on  Sunday,  and  Olive  lingered, 
eying  everything  with  a  sort  of  aimless  curios 
ity.  Passing  around  the  end  of  the  bark-shed, 
she  suddenly  came  upon  her  friend,  who,  en 
gaged  with  a  book,  did  not  perceive  her  ap 
proach.  The  bark-shed  cast  a  large  cool  shadow 
eastward  over  a  bed  of  dry  tan,  on  which  Emily 
reclined  in  the  attitude  of  Correggio's  Magdalene 
intently  reading.  Olive  made  ready  to  surprise 
her,  when  she  was  arrested  by  seeing  Mr.  Thorn 
approach  from  the  opposite  direction.  The  tan- 
cushioned  earth  gave  forth  no  sound,  and  Emily 
read  on,  unconscious  of  his  nearness.  Olive  was 
partly  concealed  by  a  projection  of  the  piled-up 
bark,  and  not  wishing  to  attract  notice  remained 
perfectly  still.  When  John  saw  his  wife  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  drew  back  a  pace,  as  if 


64  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

he  felt  himself  an  intruder.  Then  he  stood  still 
and  looked  at  her.  Olive  will  never  forget  that 
look.  If  Truesdale's  eyes  had  expressed  pas 
sionate  admiration,  Thorn's  spoke  a  longing 
agony  of  grief  and  tenderness  that  no  language 
could  equal.  His  firm  mouth  softened  and 
trembled,  and,  raising  his  hand  to  his  brow  as 
if  blinded  by  some  mighty  weight  of  feeling, 
he  moved  noiselessly  away. 

Dainty,  loving  little  Olive  laid  these  things 
up  in  her  heart.  Some  day  she  would  see  her 
way  clear  to  use  the  knowledge  she  had  gained 
with  her  friend,  so  charmingly  free  with  her,  yet 
so  icily  reserved  upon  this  one  phase  of  her 
life. 

A  week  passed  after  Emily's  injury  and  she 
was  able  to  walk  about  the  room  and  carry  her 
bandaged  arm  in  a  supporter  without  hurting 
it.  Olive  went  home  one  afternoon  for  an  hour 
or  two,  and  in  her  absence  a  strange  visitor 
came  to  Thorn's  house.  It  was  the  half-breed 
medicine  woman,  known  throughout  the  coun 
try  as  Old  Bloodroot.  She  brought  a  present 
of  wild  artichokes  to  Aunt  Thirsa,  and  through 
them  effected  an  entrance  to  the  kitchen ;  then 
pressed  on  unbidden  to  the  room  where  Emily 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  65 

sat  alone.  She  was  a  horrible  looking  creature, 
bareheaded,  ragged,  and  filthy.  An  enormous 
goitre  twisted  her  head  awry,  and  her  black 
hair  hung  in  elf-locks  about  her  swarthy  face. 
She  stood  before  Emily  and  fixed  upon  her  a 
piercing  and  sinister  look.  The  poor,  fright 
ened  girl  could  hardly  find  her  voice  to  say, — 

"  Who  are  you,  and  why  do  you  come  here?" 

The  hag  replied  in  a  dialect  simply  impos 
sible  to  reproduce  with  letters,  but  her  speech 
translated  into  plain  English  was  something 
like  this  :  — 

"  You  know  me  well  enough,  and  I  come  here 
to  tell  you  that  John  Thorn  is  a  liar.  He  has 
been  saying  that  I  frightened  your  horse.  It  is 
a  lie  !  I  was  sick  in  my  hut  that  day.  Most 
likely  it  was  one  of  his  girls  who  hates  you  ;  he 
has  plenty  of  girls.  He  hates  you,  too  ;  every 
body  knows  that.  He  would  be  glad  to  have 
you  killed.  He  asked  me  for  my  black  drops 
one  day — they  leave  no  sign  —  but  he  loves  his 
money  like  a  fool,  and  would  not  pay  enough. 
He  is  a  beast,  a  fiend,  a  son  of  the  " — 

Emily  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  wild  cry  and 
turned  to  flee  the  room,  but  her  strength  failed 
and  she  sank  back  fainting  into  her  chair. 


66  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

When  she  gradually  recovered  consciousness 
she  was  alone. 

From  the  window  of  his  room  in  the  tan- 
house  Thorn  saw  the  squaw  striding  across  his 
fields  and  guessed  she  had  been  to  his  house 
for  some  evil  purpose.  Years  before  when  he 
bought  his  land,  he  had  found  her  squatted  upon 
a  corner  of  it.  He  let  her  remain  unmolested 
till  she  had  been  caught  stealing  from  his 
smoke-house  and  hen-roost,  and  milking  his 
cows  in  the  woods ;  then  she  was  summarily 
driven  off'  the  place.  Ever  after  he  was  the 
object  of  her  vindictive  hatred.  It  would  have 
been  well  if,  when  he  hurried  into  the  house,  he 
had  related  to  Emily  this  bit  of  Bloodroot's  per 
sonal  history,  but  he  did  not.  He  merely  swore 
roundly  at  the  old  witch  for  daring  to  intrude 
her  filthy  presence,  and  at  Thirsa  for  letting  her 
inside  the  house. 

"What  did  she  say  she  came  for?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  Emily.  In  his  anger  he  seemed  to 
demand  an  answer. 

"I  don't  know,"  Emily  replied,  still  pale  and 
trembling.  "  She  made  rne  ill.  I  tried  not  to 
listen  to  her." 

All  that  night  Emily  lay  nervously  awake. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  67 

The  words  of  the  half-breed  repeated  themselves 
over  and  over  in  her  mind,  notwithstanding  she 
did  not  believe  them  in  all  their  horrible  signifi 
cance.  She  knew  Bloodroot  was  a  bad  creature, 
but  people  said  she  was  a  sort  of  obi-woman 
and  knew  strange  secrets.  What  if  John  did 
hate  her  like  that !  All  the  latent  superstition 
of  her  nature  was  aroused,  and  in  her  weak 
state,  with  her  imagination  unsettled  by  the 
free  use  of  opium,  the  impression  made  upon 
her  by  her  weird  visitor's  words  was  fearfully 
strong. 

The  next  morning  she  anticipated  Olive's 
coming  by  walking  down  to  Mr.  Kitzmiller's. 
The  distance  was  small,  but  she  reached  the 
house  exhausted,  and  went  to  bed  with  a  ner 
vous  chill.  If  John  was  hurt  or  offended  by 
this  rash  movement  he  did  not  say  so  of  course. 
He  waited  two  days,  then  went  to  see  her.  His 
call  was  a  very  short  one  ;  when  he  went  away 
Olive  followed  him  to  the  gate  and  said, — 

"I  did  not  persuade  her  to  come  here,  Mr. 
Thorn.  We  love  to  have  her  with  us,  but  we 
did  not  know  she  was  coming  till  she  came. 
That  Indian  woman  frightened  her  so  !  Please 
do  not  blame  me,  Mr.  Thorn." 


68  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

His  sombre  eyes  softened  into  a  sad  smile  as 
he  replied,  — 

"  Why  should  I  blame  you  for  being  kind  to 
that  strange,  lonely  girl !  I  can  do  nothing  for 
her.  She  is  suspicious,  vindictive  —  I  some 
times  think  utterly  heartless.  She  had  better 
remain  here  till  she  gets  strong.  I  shall  be 
away  when  she  goes  home." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

day  in  the  late  autumn,  Davy  Ransom 
was  hauling  bark  from  a  place  in  the 
woods  some  four  miles  distant  from  the  tan 
nery.  He  came  home  earlier  than  he  was  ex 
pected,  with  his  team  reeking,  and  himself  in  a 
state  of  strong  excitement. 

He  found  Mrs.  Bayless  in  her  back  yard 
lifting  her  stocking-yarn  out  of  the  blue-dye 
pot,  and  hanging  it  to  air  over  the  horizontal 
pole  that  usually  supported  the  soap-kettle. 
The  skeins  were  tied  tightly  at  short  intervals, 
like  chains  of  Bologna  sausage.  When,  after 
long  soaking  and  repeated  airings,  the  coloring 
was  finished,  the  "links"  would  be  a  very  dark 
blue,  while  the  tied  places  would  remain  almost 
white ;  thus  producing  a  clouded  or  spotted 
appearance  in  the  knitting.  Mrs.  Bayless  ex 
celled  in  the  production  of  these  choice  effects 
in  color.  At  the  moment  when  Davy  came 
around  the  corner  of  the  cabin,  she  was  ex 
amining  a  bunch  of  cross-banded  lambs'-wool 
yarn  that  Mrs.  Henry  Wycoff  had  begged 


70  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

her  to  put  in  with  hers,  the  indigo  being 
found. 

"Where's  'Zekel?"  asked  Davy,  in  a  low 
tone,  pregnant  with  meaning. 

"In  the  shop,  I  s'pose,"  was  the  brief  an 
swer.  She  did  not  look  up,  so  the  boy's  air  of 
mysterious  importance  was  lost  upon  her.  He 
waited  a  little,  then  said,  — 

"  I  got  something  to  tell  him." 

"  You  generally  got  something  to  tell  most 
anybody  that '11  listen  to  your  clack,"  said  his 
foster-mother. 

Davy  started  for  the  shop.  Mrs.  Bay  less 
straightened  herself  and  looked  after  him,  a 
sudden  curiosity  dawning  in  her  eyes.  He 
found  Bay  less  in  the  shop,  "  slicking  "  a  tunned 
hide,  and  opened  out  at  once. 

"Say,  'Zeke,  I  got  something  to  tell  ye." 

"Tell  ahead,"  said  the  tanner. 

"There's  goin'  to  be  a  war." 

"Where?" 

"Right  here ;  and  now — to-morrer.  I  see 
the  forerunners  of  him  to-day." 

"The  forerunners  of  who?  " 

"  Why,  the  enemy  !  They  've  pitched  ther 
tents  in  the  five-mile  woods." 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  71 

"Now,  look  here,  Dave ;  if  you  don't  tell, 
right  oft'  quick,  just  what  you  did  see,  I  '11  take 
you  over  this  curry in'-board,  and  make  sole- 
leather  out  o'  ye  !  " 

Davy,  not  out  of  terror  of  Bayless'  threat, 
hut  because  he  was  quite  ready  to  continue  of 
his  own  accord,  went  on  to  say, — 

"I  didn't  see  nothin',  on'y  a  lot  of  soljir  fel 
lers,  with  ile-cloth  caps  on.  They  come  with 
bosses  and  big  kivered  wagons.  I  hadn't  my 
load  quite  all  on,  but  when  I  see  'em  comin',  I 
just  climbed  up,  took  the  home  track,  and  laid 
the  gad  onto  Jinny.  I  did  n't  'low  to  be  took 
pris'ner  that  a  way.  I  don't  go  a  durned  cent 
on  war,  any  way." 

"  Did  you  see  any  guns  or  artillery — weepins 
of  any  kind  ?  " 

"Now,  I  tell  you  what,  'Zeke,  I  wasn't 
skeered  so  all-fired  bad  but  what  I  wanted  to 
see  more  'n  I  hed.  So  when  I  got  most  out  to 
the  main  road,  I  stopped  and  hitched  Bill  to  a 
saplin' ;  I  took  Jinny  offen  the  wagon,  looped 
up  her  tugs,  jumped  onto  her,  and  rode  back 
to  where  I  could  see  'em  plain.  There  they 
wus,  singin'  and  laughin',  hangin'  camp-kittles, 
and  puttin'  up  tents.  But  I  swow  the  on'y 


72  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

thing  I  saw  that  looked  like  shootin'  was  a  goll- 
blasted  machine  that  stood  on  three  legs,  as 
high  as  a  man,  and  hed  a  little  concern  on  top, 
not  bigger 'n  a  hoss-pistol,  that  a  feller  was 
takin'  sight  with." 

Bayless  threw  up  his  head  and  uttered  a  great 
laugh. 

"Why,  Davy,  you  poor  little  mashed  gos- 
lin' !  Ther  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  war  at  all ! 
Them 's  the  surveyors,  what 's  strikin'  the  line 
for  the  new  railroad  !  " 

A  day  or  two  after  Davy  Ransom  had  re 
treated  in  good  order  at  the  approach  of  the 
"enemy,"  a  young  man  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
light  gray,  much  stained  with  black  mud,  and 
wearing  an  oil-cloth  cap,  approached  Mr.  Kitz- 
miller's  house.  He  was  riding  a  black  horse, 
and  leading  another ;  both  animals  were  blank 
eted,  for  it  was  snowing  rapidly. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  had  just  emerged  from  her 
kitchen  door,  and  started  for  the  barn  to  do  the 
feeding,  all  her  men-folks  being  absent  from 
home.  She  had  on  a  man's  hat,  and  a  pair  of 
boots,  and  a  blue  swallow-tailed  coat  with 
brass  buttons  over  her  brown  flannel  dress. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  73 

The  stranger  stopped  and  dismounted  at  the 
large  gate  of  the  barn-yard.  As  the  farmer's 
wife  approached,  carrying  a  basket  of  shelled 
corn  for  geese  and  chickens,  he  showed  no  in 
clination  to  smile  at  her  grotesque  appearance, 
whatever  he  may  have  felt,  but  lifting  his  cap, 
briefly  told  his  business.  He  wanted  stabling 
for  his  horses  during  the  storm,  and  was  willing 
to  pay  well  for  it.  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  told  him 
there  were  two  empty  stalls,  and  he  might  put 
his  animals  in,  at  least  for  the  night. 

"There  may  be  right  smart  of  snow,"  she 
said,  eyeing  a  bank  of  purple  clouds  in  the 
northwest;  "but  it  won't  lay;  this  is  only 
squaw  winter ;  we  '11  have  Indian  summer 
yet." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  the  young  man.  "I  belong 
to  the  surveying  company  encamped  now  on 
Slater's  Run.  This  weather  is  hard  on  our 
horses,  and  we  find  it  difficult  to  get  stabling 
among  the  farmers,  their  barns  are  all  so 
small." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  "I  believe  ours 
is  the  largest  around  here  except  John  Thorn's, 
and  his  is  always  full  with  his  own  beasts  and 
Truesdale's.  Here 's  the  fork,  sir,  and  the  hay 


74  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

is  in  the  mow.  Take  all  you  want  for  your 
horses,  and  while  you  are  about  it  just  throw 
down  enough  for  my  cows  and  sheep.  I  '11  tell 
you  when  to  quit.  I  just  came  out  to  do  the 
chores,  for  my  husband  and  son  are  both  away, 
and  I  don't  like  to  climb  a  ladder  if  I  can 
help  it." 

The  young  engineer  scaled  the  ladder  and 
threw  down  the  hay ;  then  descended  and  dis 
tributed  it  in  long,  low  racks  for  the  sheep,  and 
in  small  piles  on  the  lee  side  of  a  huge  straw- 
stack  for  the  cows.  He  insisted  upon  finishing 
up  the  feeding ;  so,  under  Mrs.  Kitzmiller's 
direction,  he  tumbled  a  bundle  of  stalks  over 
the  fence  to  a  small  drove  of  yearlings  in  the 
road,  and  carried  a  great  basketful  of  corn  to 
the  fattening  pigs.  Then  she  urged  him  to 
come  into  the  house  and  get  warm.  He  com 
plied,  though  he  was  not  cold,  and  he  needed 
the  remaining  daylight  for  his  walk  back  to 
camp. 

They  entered  by  the  kitchen  door ;  she  dis 
appeared  into  a  back  room  for  a  few  moments, 
then  returned  divested  of  her  masculine  gar 
ments,  as  straight  and  well-favored  a  matron 

*  o 

of  fifty  as  one  would   wish  to  see.     A  model 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  75 

farmer's  wife  Frank  Rossington  thought  her,  in 
her  brown  flannel  dress,  gingham  apron,  and 
white  bobinet  cap.  She  had  a  large,  bright 
coffee-pot  in  her  hand,  and  as  she  raked  out  a 
shovelful  of  coals  and  settled  it  upon  them, 
she  remarked,  — 

"  Considerin'  how  you  Ve  helped  me  I  '11  just 
make  you  a  good  cup  of  coffee  while  you  dry 
your  boots.  Ollie  and  I  took  our  dinner  about 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  You  see  we  hap 
pen  to  be  quite  alone  ;  Leander,  my  son,  went 
to  mill  this  morning,  and  the  goin'  's  so  bad 
it'll  be  away  on  in  the  night  'fore  he  gets  home. 
Mr.  Kitzmiller's  been  gone  a  week,  attendin' 
Presbytery  at  Croftonsville." 

"Is  your  husband  a  minister?"  queried  the 
young  stranger. 

"No,  sir,  but  he  was  a  rulin'  elder  in  yonder 
where  we  came  from,  and  he  is  very  anxious 
to  get  a  supply.  There 's  no  church  of  our  per 
suasion  in  this  vicinity,  and  he  went  to  Crof 
tonsville,  intendin'  to  labor  with  the  Presbytery 
and  prevail  with  'em,  if  possible,  to  send  us  an 
occasional  supply.  We  miss  the  privileges 
we  Ve  been  used  to." 

"  Is  there  no  religious  worship  at  all  within 


76  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

reach  of  you?  "  asked  Rossington.  "  I  am  from 
the  east,  and  feel  a  warm  interest  in  these  west 
ern  settlers  and  everything  that  concerns  their 
welfare." 

"  Well,  yes,"  assented  the  farmer's  wife ; 
"  the  Methodists  are  pretty  strong  around  here . 
The  Wycoffs  are  all  Methodists,  and  they  are 
forehanded  folks  and  a  strong  support  to  that 
church.  They  have  preaching  and  class  meet 
ing  at  New  Madrid  every  Sunday,  and  at  our 
school-house  once  in  two  weeks." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  engineer,  "that  in 
a  community  like  this  one  ministry  is  about  all 
that  could  be  well  sustained.  I  mean,  if  you 
could  all  join  one  church  and  work  together  in 
that,  it  might  be  better  at  present  than  to 
attempt  to  plant  new  ones." 

"  No,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  ear 
nestly.  "  It  is  our  duty  always  to  contend  for 
the  truth  ;  and  I  know,  if  you  do  not,  that  there 
is  a  wide  difference  between  Arminianism  and 
correct  Bible  doctrine.  Not  but  what  I  con 
sider  the  Methodists  Christians  and  their  wor 
ship  better  than  no  means  of  grace  at  all.  We 
go  to  meeting  right  along,  but  it  don't  seem 
like  home  to  us  when  we  Ve  been  used  to  an 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  77 

educated  ministry.  I  do  hope  father  will  get 
the  promise  of  a  supply.' 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Olive  rushed 
in,  cloaked  and  hooded  in  brown  and  scarlet, 
shaking  the  snow  from  her  like  a  bright  beauti 
ful  bird. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  do  the  work  at  the 
barn,  mother,  so  I  brought  Davy  along." 

What  a  ringing,  musical  voice  !  And  how 
lovely  she  was  —  her  brown  curls  all  damp  and 
rough  and  her  cheeks  and  lips  glowing ! 

"  The  chores  are  all  done,  Ollie  ;  this  gentle 
man  " — 

"Rossington  is  my  name,"  he  said  promptly. 

"And  Kitzmiller  is  ours."  Thus  a  sort  of 
introduction  was  completed. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  young  man  and 
girl  looked  into  each  other's  faces.  Uncon 
sciously  to  himself  the  sudden,  deep  delight 
which  he  felt  in  this  vision  of  youth  and  inno 
cence  and  girlish  charm  shone  in  his  warm,  blue 
eyes.  Olive  felt  it  to  the  quick  of  her  being. 
She  was  dazzled,  but  not  ashamed.  When  her 
own  lids  drooped  it  was  to  hide  her  timid  joy 
at  being  so  tenderly  admired. 

As  Rossington  was  finishing  his  cup  of  excel- 


78  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

lent  coffee  there  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and 
Olive  opened  it  to  admit  Truesdale.  He  had 
ridden  past  the  mill  that  day  while  Leander  was 
waiting  for  his  grist,  and  the  latter  had  asked 
him  to  stop  on  his  way  home  and  tell  his  mother 
that  it  would  be  too  late  when  his  grinding  was 
done  to  start  for  home,  and  that  she  need  not 
look  for  him  till  the  next  forenoon. 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Truesdale,"  said 
Mrs.  Kitzmiller.  "  Sit  down  and  drink  a  cup 
of  hot  coffee.  It's  better  coffee,  I  '11  be  bound, 
than  you  get  at  Bounce's  tavern." 

Truesdale  had  visited  the  surveyor's  camp 
and  knew  Rossington  as  one  of  the  company. 
He  wanted  to  talk  with  him  about  the  rail 
road,  about  anything,  for  the  sake  of  talking 
with  one  belonging  originally  to  the  same  world 
as  himself.  How  well  and  easily  their  conver 
sation  ran  on !  Olive  listened,  wondering  and 
pleased. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  tremendous  stamping 
on  the  porch  and  Olive  rushed  to  the  door, 
crying— 

"  That 's  father  —  I  know  that 's  father  !  " 

The  farmer  entered,  followed  by  a  middle- 
aged  man  in  black  clothes  whom  he  introduced 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  79 

as  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lewis.  Rossington  supposed 
at  once  he  was  the  "supply."  Mr.  Kitzmiller 
presently  went  on  to  state  that  the  minister 
had  been  sent  by  the  Presbytery  to  look  the 
field  over  and  report.  He  was  pastor  of  a 
church  at  L.,  fifty  miles  south,  and  was  on  his 
way  home  from  the  Presbytery,  making  the  jour 
ney,  of  course,  on  horseback.  Thus  it  came 
about  that  there  met  that  evening,  under  farmer 
Kitzmiller's  roof,  three  men  of  eastern  birth  and 
college  training,  but  of  spirits  differing  as  essen 
tially  as  the  lines  of  their  forms  and  faces. 


fTTHE 


CHAPTER  X. 

building  of  the  first  railroad  marks  an 
epoch  in  any  country.  It  effects  a  change 
as  potent  in  its  way  as  the  cutting  down  of  the 
forests,  and  the  letting  in  of  sunlight  to  the  soil 
of  its  hills  and  valleys.  During  the  winter  fol 
lowing  the  survey  the  business  and  social  life  of 
New  Madrid  and  vicinity  received  a  telling  im 
petus.  Hundreds  of  men  found  employment  in 
cutting  timber  and  clearing  out  the  swamps  along 
the  line,  so  that  everything  might  be  in  readi 
ness  for  the  construction  of  the  road-bed  early 
in  the  spring.  Property  took  a  sudden  rise. 
The  last  of  Truesdale's  swamp  lots  went  off 
rapidly  ;  and  Leander  Kitzmiller  paid  for  the 
school-section  he  had  purchased  on  a  year's  time 
with  the  money  he  received  from  the  sale  of 
half  of  it.  Portable  mills  and  shingle-cutters 
planted  themselves  along  the  streams  and  water 
courses,  and  the  hum  of  the  circular  saw  was 
heard  in  the  land.  The  village,  which  was  the 
county  seat,  promised  itself  a  new  court-house 
the  coming  summer.  Several  new  dry-goods 
80 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  81 

and  grocery  firms  sprang  up,  their  proprietors 
being,  for  the  most  part,  young  and  single  men. 
They,  with  two  lawyers  and  a  new  physician, 
all  bachelors,  paired  off  conveniently  with  the 
same  number  of  attractive  village  girls,  Susie 
Hodges  among  the  number.  There  were  a 
great  many  sleigh-rides  and  dancing  parties 
that  winter.  Truesdale  never  joined  in  any 
of  them ;  though  free  and  friendly  with  every 
body,  he  had  never  mingled  in  a  general  way 
in  the  social  life  of  the  place.  He  attended 
church,  however,  and  one  Sunday  night  stepped 
in  ahead  of  young  Walters,  of  the  grocery 
firm  of  Walters  and  Gay,  and  escorted  Miss 
Hodges  home. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  black-eyed  Susan," 
he  said,  when  they  were  out  alone  under  the 
stars  ;  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  your  dread 
ful  flirting.  It 's  not  the  way  I  've  trained  you 
to  do.  I  don't  like  all  these  strange  fellows 
dangling  after  you.  I  don't  like  all  this  sleigh- 
riding  and  dancing." 

"Do  you  really  care?  "  she  asked,  lifting  her 
face  in  the  moonlight  —  her  face  which  said  as 
plainly  as  words  could  say, —  "  If  I  have  made 
you  care,  it  is  all  I  have  aimed  to  do." 


82  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"  You  have  been  as  kind  as  ever  to  Punch  and 
Judy"  (the  red  squirrels)  "and  to  Tiny  Tim, 
and  Penelope  ;  and  Sam  Slick  tells  me  you  even 
made  a  fire  in  the  den  that  coldest  night  while 
I  was  away,  but  you  are  changed  to  me." 

She  lifted  her  face  again,  and  saw  the  mock 
ing  light  in  his  eyes. 

"You  don't  care  no  more  for  me  than  that 
dead  tree  over  yonder,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  quiet 
tone.  "  I  know  who  you  do  care  for ;  it 's  Em 
Ludlow." 

The  words  were  out,  and  she  was  frightened 
at  herself  for  saying  them ;  but  her  companion 
went  on  smoothly,  — 

"  I  care  a  good  deal  for  Mrs.  Thorn,  partly 
because  she  is  such  a  lady.  She  never  says 
'  don't  care  no  more,'  or  '  have  saw,'  or  '  had 
went.' " 

"  I  suppose  you  have  taught  her  better,"  said 
Sue  bitterly.  "I  wonder  who  sent  you  out 
here  for  a  missionary  to  train  all  the  wild  girls 
in  Indiana  how  to  dress  and  talk." 

Truesdale  laughed  a  low,  merry  laugh  of 
genuine  amusement. 

"That  was  splendid,  Susie!  Mrs.  Thorn 
never  said  anything  I  liked  as  well.  She  is  not 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  83 

at  all  given  to  humor,  and  she  never  gets  so  de 
lightfully  angry  as  you  do." 

They  had  reached  Hodges'  gate.  She  snatched 
her  hand  from  his  arm,  and  exclaimed  hotly,  — 

"I  suppose  I  am  not  a  lady,  and  never  can 
be  !  "  Tears  of  smothered  passion  and  wounded 
pride  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  a  sweet,  bright,  warm-hearted  girl," 
said  Truesdale,  encircling  her  with  his  arm  and 
drawing  her  gently,  but  firmly,  to  him.  "  I  am 
sorry  if  I  've  hurt  you.  I  do  not  care  to  have 
you  much  different.  I  like  to  see  you  run  and 
leap  across  little  brooks  and  walk  squirrel- 
bridges.  All  your  movements  are  so  strong 
and  graceful.  And  I  like  to  hear  you  sing  and 
laugh,  and  even  whistle  ;  but  those  barbarisms 
in  speech !  —  and  you  could  so  easily  drop 
them." 

"  I  will,"  she  whispered  ;  "I  know  better,  and 
I  will  try.  And  I  won't  go  with  Mr.  Walters 
again  if  you  'd  rather  I  would  n't." 

"  As  you  please  about  that,"  he  said  with  a 
smile.  "  I  was  only  teasing  you  ; "  and  dropping 
a  kiss  as  light  as  a  lingering  breath  on  her  cheek 
he  left  her. 

He  knew  well  she  would  not  please.     She  in- 


84  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

dulged  in  no  more  gay  parties  and  rides,  but 
pored  secretly  over  her  grammar  until  she  had 
mastered  its  intricacies  and  stumbled  no  more 
in  her  verbs.  Love  was  the  despot  who  forced 
her  fickle,  girlish  memory  to  do  its  work  like  a 
drudge. 

During  the  winter  John  Thorn  was  more  than 
usually  occupied  with  business,  and  was  a  good 
deal  away  from  home.  When  there,  he  seemed 
studiously  to  avoid  meeting  Emily.  The  irregu 
lar  ways  of  the  household  made  this  compara 
tively  easy  of  accomplishment ;  frequently  there 
were  days  together  when  Emily  caught  but 
casual  glimpses  of  him.  For  a  long  time  she 
had  instinctively  shunned  his  presence,  not  that 
she  feared  him  or  found  him  personally  disagree 
able,  but  from  a  sense  of  constraint  growing  out 
of  their  anomalous  relationship.  Still  it  hurt 
her  as  nothing  else  had  ever  done  to  know  that 
he  regularly  planned  his  movements  to  avoid 
crossing  her  path.  At  times  a  sense  of  loneli 
ness  swept  over  her,  deeper  and  more  absolute 
than  anything  she  had  suffered  alone  in  that 
forest  hut  with  her  decrepit  father.  Of  the 
possibility  of  a  happy  understanding  with  John 
she  never  dreamed.  He  had  made  no  positive 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  85 

move  in  that  direction  since  that  day  at  the  gate, 
a  few  weeks  after  their  marriage.  She  did  not 
desire  him  to  approach  her  in  that  way  again, 
and  she  did  not  think  he  ever  would.  She  still 
believed  his  chief  purpose  in  marrying  her  was 
to  secure  her  father's  money ;  perhaps  there  was 
less  of  it  than  he  had  expected,  and  he  was  bit 
terly  disappointed.  He  had  the  air  of  a  dis 
appointed  man. 

Emily  and  Olive  saw  rather  less  of  each  other 
than  when  they  first  became  acquainted.  This 
was  in  part  owing  to  the  fact  that  Olive  was 
attending  Jared  Wycoff  s  school,  and  Emily  had 
concluded  not  to  go.  She  was  steadily  acquir 
ing  a  deeper  quietude  of  manner.  She  had 
been  seeing  more  of  people  this  last  year,  and 
they  pressed  too  close.  Her  life  was  not  just 
like  the  lives  of  others,  and  she  must  keep  to 
herself.  She  did  not  mean  to  be  reserved  with 
Olive,  and  Truesdale  would  not  let  her  be  stiff 
and  silent  with  him.  Almost  unconsciously  to 
herself  she  had  come  to  regard  him  as  her  chief 
source  of  entertainment.  He  visited  her  openly, 
though  not  with  conspicuous  frequency,  and  she 
scarcely  thought  of  what  the  outside  world 
would  say.  She  was  trying  to  forget  there  was 
an  outside  world. 


86  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Her  Sundays  were  usually  spent  at  Mr.  Kitz- 
miller's.  She  would  dress  early  and  ride  with 
them  to  church  in  the  village.  Upon  their 
return  they  would  have  dinner,  and  after  that 
an  hour's  Bible  study  around  the  sitting-room 
fire,  with  Drs.  Scott  and  Jacobus  in  helpful 
readiness  near  the  farmer's  elbow.  Then  the 
two  girls  would  escape  to  Olive's  room,  where — 
strange  indulgence  for  that  time  and  place — 
they  were  allowed  a  cosey  fire  in  a  little  square 
cast-iron  stove  about  the  size  of  a  raisin  box. 
It  was  on  such  a  Sunday  afternoon  that  Olive 
showed  Emily  her  valentine.  She  had  carried 
it  in  her  bosom  for  two  days  and  slept  with  it 
under  her  pillow.  In  appearance  it  was  only  a 
letter  in  a  white  envelope.  It  had  so  happened 
that  she  had  taken  it  from  the  post  herself,  and 
the  secret  was  wholly  her  own. 

OLIVE, — I  heard  your  pretty  name  only  once,  and  I 
saw  your  pretty  self  only  once,  but  I  have  forgotten 
neither.  I  think  I  can  never  forget  any  little  thing  con 
nected  with  that  stormy  November  evening.  I  was 
just  thinking  how  cosey  the  kitchen  seemed,  and  how 
bright  and  genial  your  mother  was,  when  you  entered, 
and  I  saw  nothing,  thought  of  nothing  else,  while  I 
remained.  Forgive  me  if  my  eyes  spoke  too  plainly 
what  my  heart  felt.  I  thought  you  turned  away  quickly, 
as  though  offended  by  my  look.  I  had  no  time  to  guard 
myself.  How  good  you  seemed  ! 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  87 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  do  the  work  at  the  barn,  so 
I  brought  Davy  along  ! " 

Such  a  liquid,  loving  voice!  And  the  sweet,  impul 
sive  running  to  meet  '  father '  and  helping  him  off  with 
his  snowy  great-coat.  How  good,  indeed,  but  more 
than  all,  how  bewitchingly  beautiful !  I  fell  rapturously 
in  love,  and  shall  remain  so  till  I  die.  I  expect  to  see 
you  —  well,  before  many  months  have  passed,  and  I 
shall  read  in  your  eyes  whether  or  no  you  are  displeased 
with  your  presumptuous  VALENTINE. 

"It  is  a  delicious  love-letter,  Olive,"  whis 
pered  Emily. 

"That  is  just  what  I  should  call  it,"  said 
Olive,  laughing  softly,  Avhile  her  eyes  grew 
bright  and  the  warm  color  rose  to  her  temples. 

"  How  strange,"  she  said,  "  that  I  should  have 
been  thinking  of  him  every  day  —  a  great  many 
times  every  day  —  and  then,  that  he  should 
write  me  this  letter.  It  has  made  me  veiy 
happy,  but  now  I  am  going  to  burn  it.  I  in 
tended  to  do  so  all  the  time,  because  I  could 
not  show  it  to  mother,  and  it  would  be  wrong 
to  keep  it  a  great  while  without.  I  wanted  you 
to  see  it,  so  that  afterwards,  Avhen  it  seemed 
like  a  dream,  I  could  ask  you,  'did  I  ever  get 
such  a  letter,'  and  you  could  tell  me  'yes.'" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

/~\N  a  certain  soft  evening  in  April,  Olive  sat 
by  the  sitting-room  window,  busily  crimp 
ing  and  plaiting  her  mother's  cap-borders. 
Mrs.  Kitzmiller  was  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  her  evening's  work,  and  the  farmer  himself  sat 
just  outside  the  window,  on  the  verandah,  read 
ing  his  wreekly  paper.  The  air  was  full  of  that 
peculiarly  western  melody,  the  low,  continuous 
chirp  of  frogs,  and  the  tinkle  of  cow-bells  could 
be  heard  when  one  thought  to  listen.  It  was  so 
warm  that  the  door  stood  open,  framing  a  picture 
of  lambs  at  play  in  the  near  field,  with  a  back 
ground  of  hazy  sky  and  budding  forest.  It  was 
suddenly  darkened,  and  Olive,  glancing  up,  saw 
standing  there  the  civil  engineer  in  apparently 
the  same  mud-spotted  suit  of  gray,  with  his  cap 
in  his  hand,  and  his  blue  eyes  pouring  their  warm 
light  upon  her.  Dame  Kitzmiller  had  seen  him 
and  came  forward  with  extended  hand. 

"I've  been  wonderin'  lately,  Mr.  Rossington, 
if  we  shouldn't  see  you  back  here  this  sum 
mer." 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  89 

"It  was  a  piece  of  good  luck,  Mrs.  Kitzmil- 
ler,"  he  said ;  "  they  don't  often  employ  the 
surveyors  to  work  up  the  grade,  but  I  very 
much  wanted  to  come,  and  managed  to  get  on 
the  force." 

Mr.  Kitzmiller  came  in  and  welcomed  the 
stranger  as  if  he  were  a  tried  friend.  It  was 
the  way  of  these  simple,  kindly  people ;  they 
knew  no  other.  Olive  scarcely  looked  up. 
After  the  first  wild  rush  of  color  to  her  face, 
the  blood  receded,  leaving  her  pallid  and  cold, 
liossington  waited  for  her  to  offer  her  hand,  as 
is  the  free  custom  of  the  West,  but  she  did  not 
do  it ;  it  trembled  so.  Her  face  had  a  white, 
constrained  look  which  it  pained  him  to  see  ;  he 
took  it  for  displeasure.  Nevertheless,  he  fol 
lowed  out  his  original  intention  in  coming  that 
evening. 

After  talking  awhile  with  the  farmer  and  his 
wife  about  matters  connected  with  the  new  rail 
road,  he  told  them  he  was  one  of  a  corps  of  six 
engineers  who  had  established  their  headquar 
ters  at  New  Madrid.  Just  then  he  was  engaged 
in  making  the  estimates  for  that  part  of  the  road 
which  ran  near  Mr.  Kitzmiller's  land,  and  he 
would  like  to  engage  board  for  a  week  or  two 


90  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

at  the  farm-house.  He  had  not  forgotten  how 
generously  they  had  furnished  stabling  for  his 
horses  that  stormy  time  last  November.  No 
objection  was  urged  against  his  staying,  and 
Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  on  learning  that  he  had  had  no 
supper,  went  out  to  prepare  that  meal  for  him. 
But  he  followed  her  into  the  kitchen,  and,  seat 
ing  himself  at  one  end  of  the  carefully  scoured 
table,  implored  her  so  earnestly  for  a  bowl  of 
bread  and  milk  that  she  at  length  set  it  before 
him,  insisting,  however,  upon  supplementing 
it  with  a  plate  of  thick  maple-sugar  cookies  and 
some  delicious  crab-apple  preserves. 

While  Frank  Rossington  leisurely  enjoyed 
these  delicacies,  he  inquired  of  Mrs.  Kitzmiller 
concerning  church  matters,  and  learned  that 
as  yet  they  had  only  secured  an  occasional 
"supply."  A  Mr.  Sweden  came  from  Romney, 
distant  twenty-five  miles,  when  he  was  not  pre 
vented  by  ague  or  bad  roads,  and  preached  in 
the  court-house  at  New  Madrid  on  Sunday 
morning,  and  in  the  school-house  in  their 
neighborhood  in  the  evening.  He  had  good 
congregations,  but  as  yet  no  attempt  had  been 
made  to  organize  a  church. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  young  man,  "that  his 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  91 

work  here  is  regarded  by  the  Presbytery  as 
missionary  labor." 

"Well,  not  exactly,"  replied  Mrs.  Kitzmiller. 
"Mr.  Sweden  is  pastor  of  a  pretty  strong 
church  at  Romney,  and  he  said  if  he  could  re 
ceive  one  hundred  dollars  from  this  place,  he 
would  come  here  once  a  month,  for  a  year. 
Dan'l  guaranteed  that  sum.  He  said  to  me 
that  he  guessed  we  'd  better  make  it  up  our 
selves  the  first  year,  and  not  appeal  to  the 
people  ;  I  said  maybe  we  had,  though  I  couldn't 
see  how  we  'd  do  it,  without  selling  something 
we  couldn't  really  spare.  But  John  Thorn 
questioned  Leander  about  the  matter,  and  one 
day,  not  long  ago,  he  stepped  in  and  handed 
Dan'l  twenty-five  dollars,  as  his  payment 
towards  Mr.  Sweden's  support.  He  never 
goes  near  preaching  himself,  but  lately  she's 
taken  to  goin'  with  us  quite  reg'lar." 

"I  think,  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,"  said  Rossington, 
"that  we  engineers  will  be  able  to  help  you  out 
in  the  matter  of  your  minister's  salar}r.  We 
shall  be  around  here  perhaps  a  year,  and  we 
have  all  been  used  to  an  educated  ministry." 

The  next  morning,  Frank  went  from  the 
breakfast-table,  which  was  always  set  in  the 


92  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

ample  kitchen,  into  the  sitting-room,  and  found 
Olive  there  alone.  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  detained 
her  worthy  husband  to  say  to  him  that,  now 
that  this  stranger  was  with  them,  he  had  better 
not  read  a  whole  chapter  at  morning  worship, 
and,  above  all  things,  not  to  be  lengthy  in 
prayer.  One  ought  to  guard  ngainst  making 
religion  tiresome  to  the  young,  and  she  knew 
Mr.  Rossington  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  oft'. 
Kitzmiller  quoted  the  adage  that  "prayer  and 
provender  hinder  no  man's  journey ; "  but  she 
continued,  as  though  she  did  not  hear  him,  that 
often,  in  the  busy  season,  she  had  herself 
thought  she  could  have  prayed  twice  while  he 
was  praying  once. 

"Indeed,  mother,"  said  the  farmer,  mildly, 
"I  think  if  you  always  prayed  once,  while  we 
are  on  our  knees,  the  time  wouldn't  seem  so 
long." 

While  this  little  colloquy  was  going  on  in 
the  kitchen,  Frank  was  trying  to  establish  a 
friendly  understanding  with  Olive.  Over  night 
he  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  valen 
tine  was  a  stupid  blunder.  She  would,  of 
course,  consider  such  a  declaration  as  it  con 
tained,  coming  from  a  stranger,  as  highly  pre- 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  93 

sumptuous,  unless  she  had  been  as  deeply 
smitten  as  himself,  which  was  not  at  all  likely. 
As  for  himself,  he  was  entirely  satisfied  with 
his  own  condition  of  mind.  He  had  always 
expected  to  tumble  into  love  headlong  ;  he  con 
sidered  it  the  best  and  surest  way.  And  this 
darling  girl !  He  would  win  her  yet ;  but  first 
of  all  he  must  make  his  peace  with  her.  This 
he  tried  to  do,  standing  near  her  with  his  lofty 
head  bent  a  little,  that  he  might  watch  the  look 
of  her  half-averted  face. 

"I  might  better  have  sent  you  one  of  those 
cut-paper  arrangements,  with  gilt  doves,  and 
hearts  with  arrows  through  them, ".he  said. 

"Yes,  they  are  beautiful,"  laughed  Olive. 
"I  have  one  or  two  that  I  got  when  I  was 
little." 

"At  any  rate,  I  did  not  mean  to  vex  you," 
he  said.  Then  she  told  him  she  would  not  be 
vexed  any  more,  and  he  thanked  her  earnestly. 

She  could  hardly  keep  the  tears  back  till  she 
was  alone.  Her  letter,  that  had  tinted  life  with 
the  rosy  hues  of  sunrise,  had  been  only  a  boy 
ish  prank ;  something  for  which  —  now  that 
they  had  accidentally  met  again  —  he  ought  to 
apologize.  Her  tender  heart  was  very  sore. 


94  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

What  a  strange  misunderstanding !  Her  em 
barrassment  had  seemed  to  him  displeasure, 
and  his  efforts  at  conciliation  had  led  her  to 
think  him  a  gay  trifler. 

If  either  of  these  young  creatures  had  surely 
known,  a  fortnight  before,  that  they  would 
soon  be  domiciled  under  the  same  roof,  what 
secret  raptures  each  would  have  indulged  in  ! 
But  the  time  thus  spent  was  not  at  all  rap 
turous.  Rossington  was  away  from  early  morn 
ing  till  sundown  ;  but  he  spent  all  his  evenings 
at  the  farm-house.  Sometimes  he  smoked  a 
friendly  pipe  with  Mr.  Kitzmiller  on  the  veran 
dah,  and  talked  with  him  and  Leander  about 
western  politics  and  the  prospects  of  the 
country,  or  explained  the  mysteries  of  his 
profession.  Kitzmiller  was  something  of  a 
mathematician,  and  had  a  great  admiration  for 
what  he  called  "fine  head-work."  Consequently 
he  was  much  interested  in  the  methods  of  cal 
culating  curves  and  gradients.  Olive  usually 
had  her  place  near  the  open  window,  for  the 
weather  was  warm  as  June.  She  loved  to  lis 
ten  to  Frank's  deep,  mellow  voice  while  she 
watched  the  lire-flies  light  their  tiny  lamps 
across  the  misty  meadows. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  95 

Sometimes  they  had  the  talk  to  themselves. 
She  was  not  shy  with  him  now,  hut  chatted  in  a 
frank,  bright  way  about  many  things.  He  be 
gan  to  get  acquainted,  and  found  it  worth  while 
to  learn  something  of  her  opinions  and  tastes, 
for  she  really  had  both.  At  first  he  had 
thought  only  of  her  fresh  beauty,  her  engaging 
manners,  and  of  the  affections  whose  existence 
he  thought  were  revealed  in  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

talked  one  evening1  about  the  wild, 
wooded  county,  which  Olive  professed 
to  like  after  a  year's  residence  in  it.  .  Rossing- 
ton  reviled  the  marshes,  and  Olive  found  a  good 
word  to  say  for  them. 

"You  ought  to  go  through  the  long  marsh 
just  north  of  Loon  Lake,  in  June,"  she  said. 
"It  is  like  this,"  drawing  an  emphatic  little  line 
on  the  window-sill  with  her  finger  ;  "  there  is  a 
bridge  running  through  the  marsh,  half  a  mile 
long,  and  on  each  side  the  bridge  a  ditch,  of 
course.  Along  each  ditch  is  a  solid  border  of 
blue  flag,  — wild  iris,  you  know,  —  which  blos 
soms  just  when  the  dog-roses  are  out,  a  close 
hedge  of  them,  four  or  five  feet  high,  without  a 
break.  Growing  through  and  above  the  rose- 
brush  are  all  the  rich,  green  things  you  find  in 
swampy  places.  Just  think  of  that  vista  of 
color  !  Bright  blue,  with  dashes  of  yellow  near 
the  ground,  and,  above,  a  blended,  waving  mass 
of  pink  and  green  !  Have  I  given  you  a  little 
bit  of  a  glimpse  of  it?" 
96 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  97 

"Yes,"  he  responded,  "and  a  scent  of  it,  too. 
I  am  going  to  see  Loon  Lake  marsh  in  June. 
Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  show  me 
the  way." 

She  made  no  reply  to  that,  but  presently 
continued,  — 

"Browning  once  said  to  a  friend  in  Belgium, 
that  he  liked  the  quiet  Norman  country  'be 
cause  it  was  not  obtrusive,  like  some  more  pro 
nounced  landscapes,  but  left  him  to  make  its 
beauty  with  his  adorning  fancy.'  I  think  he 
would  have  liked  northern  Indiana." 

"How  apt !"  said  Frank  admiringly.  "I  can 
never  remember  anything  I  read,  to  use  it  in 
that  way." 

Olive  smelled  daintily  at  a  little,  clove-apple 
which  she  had  picked  up  from  among  the 
knickknacks  on  a  table  near  her.  A  smile 
dimpled  her  cheeks,  as  she  said  demurely,  — 

"  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  confess  that  I  found 
that  in  a  newspaper,  and  committed  it  carefully 
to  memory,  to  have  it  ready  for  some  such 
occasion." 

How  mischievous  she  looked  !  He  had  never 
been  so  deeply  in  love  as  to-night,. 

"I  fancy  you  read  a  good   deal,"  he  said. 


98  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"Where  do  you  find  books  in  this  wilder 
ness  ?  " 

"  Squire  Wycoff  has  a  good  many  that  I  can 
have  the  use  of;  and  Mrs.  Thorn  has  purchased 
quite  a  library,  under  his  direction." 

He  went  away  the  next  day,  and  did  not  re 
turn  for  a  week.  One  Sunday  afternoon  he 
rode  out  from  New  Madrid.  Emily  was  with 
Olive ;  they  were  reading  in  the  parlor,  which 
was  always  open  on  that  day,  and  did  not  see 
Itossington  till  he  came  up  the  verandah  steps. 
He  was  daintily  fresh  in  his  best  "  go-to-meet 
ing"  clothes,  and  his  hair  had  been  newly 
clipped,  leaving  it  in  close,  brown  waves. 
Olive  looked  at  it ;  he  noticed  the  look,  and 
laughingly  asked  her  how  she  liked  his  summer 
contour.  She  did  not  answer  very  promptly. 

"  I  was  thinking  "  —  She  stopped  and  turned 
to  Emily,  who  seemed  to  guess  her  thought,  for 
she  broke  into  a  little  laugh,  in  which  Olive 
joined,  with  a  bright  blush. 

"  I  believe  I  know  what  you  were  not  going 
to  say,"  said  Emily. 

"Why  not  say  it?"  queried  Frank. 

"  I  will  say  it  now,"  said  Olive ;  "  it  would 
be  ill  manners  not  to,  after  all  this  hinting.  I 


JOHN  THOKN'S  FOLKS.  99 

just  happened  to  think  of  something  we  read 
last  week,  that  a  great  Frenchwoman  —  I  can't 
pronounce  her  name  —  once  said.  It  Avas  that 
a  woman  should  count  herself  fortunate  who 
had  seen  three  handsome  men  in  her  life." 

"  I  am  curious  to  know  who  the  other  two 
might  be,"  said  Rossington,  with  easy  self- 
assurance. 

"Mr.  Thorn  and  Mr.  Truesdale,"  replied 
Olive  promptly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  reflective 
tone,  "  Thorn  is  a  magnificent  fellow,  with  a 
strong,  true  face,  and  carries  himself  just  as  a 
man  of  his  size  should.  Truesdale  is  small,  but 
symmetrical,  with  a  Roman  profile,  and  an  aris 
tocratic  head  and  hand.  I  will  leave  you  to 
complete  a  description  of  number  three,  while  I 
go  and  talk  with  Mr.  Kitzmiller  ;  "  and  his  tall, 
slight  iigure  moved  gracefully  out  of  the  room. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  seemed  very  bold,"  Olive  said, 
a  troubled  look  coming  into  her  face. 

"I  think  not,  dear,"  replied  Emily.  "I 
thought  you  seemed  very  winsome." 

"I  am  not  myself  at  all  when  he  is  here.  I 
was  silly  about  that  valentine,  and  I  have  been 
so  afraid  of  his  guessing  it !  " 


100  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"Poor  Olive!"  said  her  friend;  "do  not 
think  of  it  or  him.  The  world  would  be  a 
better  place  if  there  were  no  men  in  it." 

Rossington  found  the  farmer  and  his  wife  in 
the  wide,  clean  kitchen,  where  they  both  felt 
most  at  home.  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  was  dozing 
over  the  church-paper,  and  her  husband  sat 
with  "Boston's  Fourfold  State"  shut  lightly  on 
his  brown  forefinger,  while  he  smilingly  Avatched 
the  gambols  of  a  pair  of  half-grown  kittens. 
He  glanced  up  with  some  surprise  as  Frank 
stepped  into  his  range  of  vision.  Ordinary 
Sunday  visitors  were  disapproved  of;  but  there 
was  nothing  ordinary  about  Kossington,  and  it 
taxed  one  hard  to  disapprove  of  him  in  any 
capacity. 

Mr.  Kitzmiller  got  up  to  bring  in  the  broad, 
splint-bottomed  chair  from  the  porch,  —  the 
one  he  had  expressed  a  liking  for.  Frank  took 
it,  and  chatted  an  hour  with  the  worthy  couple. 
When  he  rose  to  go  he  handed  Mr.  Kitzmiller  a 
folded  paper,  saying,  — 

"  I  have  been  able  to  do  something  among  the 
engineers  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Sweden's  support 
in  New  Madrid." 

It  proved  to  be  a  subscription,  payable  on 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  101 

demand,  amounting  to  seventy-five  dollars. 
Kossington's  name  headed  it  for  a  third  of 
the  amount. 

He  came  and  went,  but  seemed  to  get  no 
nearer  Olive.  She  was  not  diffident,  but  she 
was  elusive.  His  admiration  was  very  open, 
but  very  respectful^  and  she  accepted  it  without 
the  confusion  he  would  have  rejoiced  to  see. 

One  bright  forenoon  in  May  he  stopped  at 
the  farm-house,  and  found  Olive  ironing  on  the 
back  porch.  A  low,  broad-topped  walnut  threw 
all  the  place  in  cool  shadow.  He  took  a  seat 
near  her  table  and  watched  her  work ;  she 
seemed  a  little  pensive,  and  he  scanned  her 
face  narrowly.  Presently  he  made  her  sit 
down  and  read  a  long,  loving  letter  he  had  just 
re«eived  from  his  widowed  mother.  Olive's 
heart  glowed  with  pleasure,  and  a  soft  color 

rose  to  her  cheeks  as  she  read  that  mother's 

"•te> 
expressions    of    pride    and    confidence    in    her 

"brave,  good  son."  Then  they  stood  together 
at  the  end  of  the  stoop,  and  watched  a  great 
white  hawk  circling  slowly  against  the  deep 
blue  of  the  sky. 

"  I  am  going  now  down  to  the  deep  cut,"  said 
Frank,  suddenly.  "I  will  be  back  towards 
evening." 


102  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Towards  evening  Olive  went  out  to  bring  in 
her  ironing  from  the  rack.  There  sat  Rossing- 
ton,  in  the  chair  he  had  occupied  in  the  morn 
ing,  toying  with  a  cigar,  and  looking  as  though 
he  might  have  been  there  all  day.  In  fact  he 
had  come  but  a  few  minutes  before.  Olive 
gave  a  surprised  exclamation,  and  the  rich 
blood  mounted  to  her  brow.  She  went  directly 
to  the  rack,  and  commenced  transferring  its 
snowy  burden  to  her  round  arm.  When  she 
turned  to  re-enter  the  kitchen  door  a  passing 
breeze  caught  up  a  fleecy  undersleeve,  carried 
it  lightly  and  laid  it  down  at  Frank's  feet.  He 
captured  it  quickly  and  went  up  to  replace  it 
atop  of  the  glossy  heap.  There  was  a  slight, 
uncontrollable  tremor  when  he  came  so  near,  a 
little  start  and  flutter  ;  the  white  mass  toppled, 
slipped,  and,  spite  of  her  efforts  to  save  it, 
tumbled  down  to  the  floor.  Olive  uttered  a 
cry  of  dismay  and  a  nervous  laugh. 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  said  Frank.  "I  am 
very  sorry  ! "  and  he  went  down  on  his  knee  to 
assist  in  gathering  up  the  ruin.  The  larger 
articles  were  easily  lifted  all  together,  but  many 
of  the  lighter  ones  came  unfolded  and  went 
fluttering  about  in  the  treacherous  wind.  Frank 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  103 

and  Olive  invariably  reached  for  the  same  thing 
at  the  same  time ;  the  girl  grew  dizzy  with 
confusion. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said;  "I'll  just  bundle 
them  all  in  and  refold  them  on  mother's  bed." 

With  reckless  haste  she  crushed  together  col 
lars,  cuffs,  and  kerchiefs,  and  was  gliding  away, 
when  Frank  stopped  her. 

"Olive,  wait."  The  trembling  hands  threat 
ened  a  fresh  mishap. 

"I'll  not  let  them  fall  again,"  he  said,  and 
encircled  her  and  all  she  held  in  his  strong, 
steady  arms. 

"Olive,  I  want  you  for  my  wife,  and  I  want 
your  answer  now.  I  am  aware  you  know  but 
little  about  me,  but  I  am  not  afraid  to  have  you 
learn;  and  your  heart  will  tell  you — here  so 
close  to  mine  —  whether  it  can  ever  love  me." 

She  lifted  her  maiden  face,  so  pure  and  ten 
der  ;  Rossington  kissed  it  with  a  murmur  of 
endearment,  then  let  her  go.  He  went  straight 
into  the  room  where  the  farmer  and  his  wife  sat 
in  the  gathering  twilight,  and  asked  them  for 
their  treasure. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

%. .  •  • 
~T  HAVE  just  three  little  cares,"  said  Olive, 

in  one  of  her  post-betrothal  confidences 
with  Emily.  "  The  first  is  mother.  Poor,  dear 
mother !  She  grieves  so  over  the  thought  of 
losing  me  !  I  blame  myself  daily  that  I  do  not 
feel  more  distress  about  leaving  her ;  but  this 
new  love  —  ah,  I  cannot  speak  of  it !  It  changes 
everything  !  Nothing  else  could  make  me  will 
ing  to  leave  my  parents." 

"  Your  mother  esteems  Mr.  Rossington  high 
ly,"  said  Emily.  "  She  told  me  so.  She  also 
trusts  him  entirely,  and  rejoices  in  your  happi 
ness.  I  think  when  Leander  brings  his  wife 
home,  as  he  probably  will  before  many  months, 
she  will  not  be  so  very  lonely.  But  I  shall  be 
desolate  !  No  one  else  can  take  your  place 
with  me." 

"Yes,   that   brings   me  to  my  second   care. 

You  will  miss  me ;    but  you  have  missed    so 

much  besides.     That  is  the  saddest  of  all.     O, 

Emily,  I  cannot  be  selfish  enough  to  accept  my 

104 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  105 

great  happiness  without  wishing  a  like  joy  to 
my  dearest  friend  !  If  you  only — " 

"Hush,"  said  Emily,  in  a  low  tone,  turning 
pale.  "  Let  that  alone.  Let  me  alone.  What 
is  your  third  care  ?  " 

"  Frank's  mother.  He  tells  me  she  will  be 
suited  with  his  choice,  and  says  every  kind,  re 
assuring  thing  he  can  think  of;  but  I  have  not 
heard  from  her  yet.  She  cannot  separate  us, 
but  I  should  grieve  to  be  a  source  of  disappoint 
ment  and  regret  to  her." 

They  were  real  cares  to  the  gentle  girl,  but 
they  only  weighted  a  little,  as  was  necessary,  a 
heart  too  buoyant  with  love  and  bliss.  Leander 
suggested  another  drawback.  The  thought  of 
it  had  flitted  across  her  mind,  making  the  shadow 
of  a  moth's  wing. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Sis,  you  '11  be  a  badly 
scared  kitten  in  a  strange  garret.  I  wouldn't 
be  caught  that  far  off  my  own  stamping  ground 
for  the  price  of  a  load  of  clover-seed." 

"  Neither  would  I,"  said  his  sister ;  "  but  a 
load  of  clover-seed  don't  begin  to  compare.  I 
shall  not  be  scared.  Mrs.  Eossington  isn't  very 
fashionable,  and  I  can  keep  still  and  learn.  It 
will  be  [i  matter  of  dress  and  little  forms,  and 
Frank  will  help  me." 


106  JOHN  THORN'S  POLKS. 

One  afternoon  Rossington  asked  Olive,  almost 
as  soon  as  he  came,  to  walk  with  him  down  to 
the  old  beaver-dam.  Back  of  the  house  at  a 
field's  distance  was  a  little  hill ;  going  down  the 
farther  slope  one  came  upon  a  clear  brook,  the 
same  that  ran  past  Thorn's  tannery,  further 
along.  Between  the  knoll  and  the  stream  was 
what  remained  of  an  ancient  beaver-dam,  and 
growing  upon  it  were  large-trunked  yellow  and 
white  willows.  On  the  slant  hill-side  was  a 
scattering  grove  of  young  maples,  and  beneath 
one  of  them  the  lovers  seated  themselves.  The 
place  wras  bright  and  breezy,  but  very  secluded, 
and  it  suited  them  well.  Frank  drew  forth  a 
letter  and  laid  it  in  Olive's  lap,  saying, — 

"  It  is  from  mother." 

"  Oh  !  what  does  she  say  about —  me  ?  "  Olive 
whispered  in  a  little  flutter  of  hope  and  appre 
hension. 

"It  is  for  you,  love,  look  at  it;  open  and 
read  it." 

"  MY  DEAR  GIRL,  —  Frank  has  sent  me  yonr  picture. 
You  have  a  sweet  face;  and  if  you  as  truly  love  him  as 
he  does  you,  I  kiss  and  bless  you  for  my  daughter.  I 
have  known  his  secret  a  good  while,  for  I  am  one  of 
the  fortunate,  though  often  perplexed,  mothers  to  whom 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.       107 

their  children  go  with  unreserved  confidence.  Do  you 
know  —  I  suppose  he  has  told  you  a  score  of  times  — 
that  he  fell  in  love  with  you  the  first  moment  he  ever  saw 
you?  I  approve  of  being  in  love;  even  of  falling  in  love. 
I  only  urged  Frank  to  go  and  make  your  acquaintance 
in  your  own  home,  amid  your  familiar  surroundings ;  to 
make  sure  of  himself,  and  then  make  sure  of  you.  This, 
it  seems,  he  has  done,  and  I  congratulate  him.  I  also 
congratulate  you.  You  have  won  a  noble  heart  for  your 
own.  So  kind  and  devoted  a  son  and  brother  cannot  fail 
to  make  a  tender  and  faithful  husband.  My  two  married 
daughters  are  very  curious  about  you,  but,  like  myself, 
they  strengthen  their  wondering  souls  with  the  reflec 
tion  that  Frank's  choice  must  be  all  right. 

"  Please  write  me  a  little  letter  in  answer  to  this,  and 
believe  me, 

"  Very  sincerely  and  affectionately  yours, 

"  HENRIETTA  ROSSINGTON." 

Olive  sent  in  reply  a  prettily  worded  but 
rather  stiff  little  missive,  which,  however, 
seemed  to  give  much  pleasure  to  its  recipient, 
The  married  sisters  wrote,  not  to  Olive,  but  to 
Frank ;  and  one  of  them  suggested  that,  when 
he  brought  his  bride  east  in  the  fall,  Olive  should 
provide  herself  with  nothing  but  a  plain  travel 
ing  suit,  and  have  her  trousseau  bought  and 
made  in  Albany.  Frank  laughed  merrily  at 
that. 


108  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"You  see,  dear,  they  are  afraid  you  will  not 
be  properly  gotten  up.  They  want  to  oversee 
the  shopping'  and  dressmaking." 

"  There  are  good  grounds  for  their  fears,"  said 
Olive;  "I  believe  I  will  take  their  advice.  It 
will  save  mother  a  lot  of  worry. " 

"You  are  an  angel !  "  Frank  cried.  "  It  was 
a  piece  of  impertinence  in  Louise,  and  any 
other  girl  would  have  got  angry  about  it." 

One  evening  he  brought  two  of  -his  fellow 
engineers  out  to  the  farm-house  and  introduced 
them  to  Olive.  Messrs.  Bonn  and  Sayward 
had  both  seen  her  at  church  in  the  village,  and 
thought  she  seemed  rather  ordinary ;  like  many 
country  girls,  she  did  not  appear  at  her  best  on 
public  occasions.  That  evening,  however,  they 
followed  her  with  eyes  only  less  full  of  pleased 
interest  than  Rossington's.  She  wore  a  dress 
of  sheer  lawn,  with  cherry  ribbons  in  her  hair, 
and  a  babyish  coral  necklace  around  her  creamy 
throat. 

An  old-fashioned  round  centre-table  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  little  parlor.  It  held  a  great 
flower-pot ;  not  a  spray  or  two  in  a  bouquet- 
holder,  but  a  mass  of  June  roses,  red  and  white, 
what  you  would  wish  to  carry  in  your  arms. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  109 

There  were  some  other  things  on  the  table,  — 
a  plate  of  "  friendship  cards,"  and  some  bamboo 
ornaments  from  India,  brought,  of  course,  by  a 
returned  missionary.  Olive  carried  everything 
away  to  a  stand  at  the  side  of  the  room,  except 
the  flower-pot.  Then  she  went  out,  and  pres 
ently  returned  with  four  great  saucers  of  straw 
berries  on  a  salver.  Her  mother  followed  with 
the  sugar-bowl  and  a  pitcher  of  cream.  She 
acknowledged  Rossington's  introduction  to  his 
friends  with  a  curtsey  to  each  ;  then  said,  turn 
ing  to  Frank,  — 

"  If  you  'd  only  said  a  word,  I  might  have 
made  some  queen's-cake,  or  some  other  kind 
that 's  good  to  eat  fresh  with  berries." 

"  That 's  all  right,  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,"  said  the 
young  man  ;  "  but  if  we  just  had  some  maple- 
sugar  cookies  now"  — 

"You  know  we  always  have  those,"  said  the 
cheery  dame,  and  bustled  out  to  bring  a  plate 
ful,  while,  at  Olive's  bidding,  the  three  gentle 
men  drew  up  to  the  little  feast  spread  forth  on 
the  round  table.  She  poured  the  rich  cream 
over  their  fruit,  then  took  her  own  saucer,  and 
ate  her  berries  daintily.  After  this  the  other 
engineers  called  with  Rossinston  at  different 

O  O 


1.10  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

times  to  see  his  "  wildwood  flower,"  as  he  loved 
to  call  her." 

Ah,  that  glorious  June,  rose-crowned  and 
daisy-shod !  Those  two  ardent  young  souls 
held  up  the  goblet  of  life  together,  while  the 
radiant  goddess  poured  it  brimming  full  of  joy. 
To  them  the  growing  freshness  and  brightness 
of  the  dawn  brought  the  thrilling  promise  of 
love's  old  yet  ever  new  delights.  Each  morn 
was  filled  with  the  large,  glad  hope  to  which  all 
things  are  possible ;  and  the  purple  haze  of  the 
slow  twilight  was  no  softer  than  the  mellow 
content  of  their  loving,  fearless  hearts.  But  if 
Holbein  or  Diirer  had  pictured  them,  it  would 
have  been  with  a  pitiless  Fate  following  in  their 
shadow,  mocking  them  with  satirical  laughter, 
and  pointing  with  skeleton  finger  to  an  unseen 
peril  in  their  path. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

TT  was  in  the  last  week  of  July  that  the 
shock  of  an  awful  calamity  fell  upon  the 
little  company  of  civil  engineers  in  New  Mad 
rid.  A  gloom  which  was  the  gloom  of  death 
extended  throughout  the  village,  the  Wycoff 
settlement,  and  to  many  other  settlements,  near 
and  remote. 

One  brilliant  morning  Rossingtori  went  down 
the  road  on  a  hand-car,  over  a  wooden  tramway 
which  had  been  laid  for  some  miles  out  from 
New  Madrid,  for  the  convenience  of  engineers 
and  laborers.  Mr.  Bonn  was  with  him.  When 
they  reached  the  point  where  the  road  touched 
a  corner  of  the  Kitzmiller  farm,  Rossington 
stopped  the .  car.  He  had  an  armful  of  wild 
marsh  blossoms,  mallows,  golden-rod,  mon- 
arda,  and  vervain,  with  spikes  of  vivid  lobelia 
flowers. 

"Wait  here  just  five  minutes,"  said  Frank, 
leaping  down  the  embankment ;  "  I  want  to 
carry  these  up  to  that  house." 

One  of  the  navvies  who  propelled  the  car 

111 


112      JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

stepped  down  and  seated  himself  on  its  side, 
and  deliberately  took  out  his  pipe. 

"  Mr.  lioshington  's  sure  to  make  his  five 
minutes  twanty,  so  we  might  as  well  enjoy  a 
bit  of  a  shmoke.  I've  waited  for  him  here 
afore." 

His  companion  followed  his  example,  and 
young  Bonn  amused  himself  by  throwing  peb 
bles  at  a  gray  squirrel,  that  scolded  him  noisily 
from  the  top  of  a  tall  sapling.  Frank  cleared 
the  space  between  the  road  and  the  house  with 
long,  swift  strides ;  he  approached  from  the 
rear,  and  Olive  went  out  on  the  back  porch  to 
meet  him.  She  took  his  flowers  and  laid  them 
on  the  bench,  merely  saying,  — 

"  I  '11  rave  over  their  beauty  when  I  make  up 
the  flower-pot ;  now  I  have  n't  time." 

All  she  seemed  to  have  time  for  was  to  stand 
folded  in  his  warm  embrace,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  low  walnut.  The  men-folks  were  afield, 
Mrs.  Kitzmiller  in  the  spring-house  ;  they  wrere 
quite  alone  in  the  balmy  summer  stillness. 
Olive  stood  on  the  low  step  of  the  porch,  and 
her  lover  on  the  ground  ;  so  she  was  just  high 
enough  to  press  her  soft  cheek  to  his,  again  and 
ajrain  —  a  favorite  caress  with  her.  What  need 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  113 

to  repeat  their  words  —  the  unfinished  sen 
tences,  the  tender  nothings  that  mean  so  much  ? 

"I  must  go,"  he  said,  at  length.  "I'll  have 
to-morrow  afternoon  to  myself.  Get  all  your 
work  done,  dear,  and  wear  the  tea-rose  lawn 
and  the  red  beads." 

"  Shall  I  walk  with  you  down  to  the  orchard 
fence?"  asked  Olive. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "we  'd  be  in  sight  of  the 
road  there,  and  you  wouldn't  let  me  kiss  you. 
We  '11  say  good-by  right  here." 

She  loosed  her  clinging  arms,  and  said,  with 
her  hands  resting  lightly  on  his  shoulders,  and 
her  eyes  drinking  in  the  tender  light  of  his,  — 

"Tell  me  something,  Frank,  —  the  sweetest 
thing  you  know,  —  to  think  of  till  to-mor 
row." 

"  My  darling  oh,  I  love  you ! "  he  whis 
pered,  with  kisses  between  the  words ;  then 
released  her,  and  went  with  fleet  steps  back  to 
the  car. 

About  noon  a  low  rumble  of  thunder  was 
heard  in  the  west ;  it  continued,  scarcely  in 
creasing  in  loudness,  till  two  o'clock,  when  a 
dense  black  cloud  began  to  appear  above  the 
forest  line  that  belted  the  horizon. 


114  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"I  wish  Emily  would  come  over,"  said  Mrs. 
Kitzmiller ;  "  she 's  so  afraid  when  it  storms, 
and  she 's  all  alone  with  Thirsa." 

Olive  was  standing  in  the  door,  looking  to 
wards  Thorn's. 

"Would  you  care,  mother,  if  I  went  to  stay 
with  her?"  she  said.  "She  doesn't  come  here 
quite  as  often  as  she  used.  Maybe  I  've  seemed 
to  neglect  her,  though  I  haven't  meant  to. 
Had  n't  I  better  go  at  once  ?  " 

"Yes,  Ollie,  run  right  along  quick,  and  get 
in  before  the  rain  comes.  There  comes  father 
and  Le  to  the  house  ;  I  'm  glad  they  started  in 
time." 

Olive  ran  off,  and  in  five  minutes  she  was 
with  -Emily,  who  had  gone  up  to  her  bedroom 
in  a  great  horror  of  loneliness  and  dread. 

O 

"Come  down  and  watch  the  storm  gather," 
said  Olive.  "It  is  the  very  best  way  to  get 
calmness." 

She  drew  her  friend  down  stairs  and  out  of 
the  house.  They  stopped  within  a  few  seconds' 
run  of  the  door,  and  together  stood  and  faced 
the  angry  west.  Wreaths  of  thin  white  vapor 
floated  hither  and  thither  over  its  greenish  dark 
ness,  and  the  forked  lightnings  shot  in  every 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  115 

direction.  Emily  turned  und  looked  at  the 
young  girl's  radiant  and  unflinching  face. 

"  It  seems  to  me  like  the  wrath  of  God,"  she 
said. 

"It  is  grand  and  awful,"  said  Olive,  "but  it 
does  not  seem  like  that  to  me.  I  have  known 
only  the  love  and  goodness  of  God  all  my  life. 
If  I  were  to  be  stricken  to  death  here  and  now, 
it  would  not  —  it  could  not  —  be  by  a  wrathful 
blow.  God  is  my  Father,  whom  I  love  and 
trust." 

Just  then  a  flock  of  crows,  which  had  been 
routed  from  their  high-built  nests  in  the  tamarac 
swamp  three  miles  away,  came  flying  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind  and  adding  their  doleful  caw 
ing  to  the  terrific  elementary  confusion.  The 
two  girls  ran  in,  for  the  great  drops  were  falling. 

"Frank  will  get  a  drenching,  I  suppose;  he 
is  out  in  that  direction  somewhere,"  Olive  said. 

Emily  at  once  looked  alarmed. 

"  The  wind,"  she  said,  "  has  been  much  worse 
out  yonder,  and  there  is  timber  everywhere." 

"Yes,  but  there  are  cleared  fields  and  farm 
houses  within  reach ;  they  would  see  the  storm 
coming  and  seek  shelter.  Mr.  Bonn  is  with 
Frank,  and  I  fancy  he  would  do  some  lively 


116  JOHN  THOEN'S  FOLKS. 

running  to  avoid  a  wetting."  She  laughed 
lightly  as  she  thought  of  the  young  man's 
rather  foppish  care  of  his  person. 

The  storm  lasted  two  hours  ;  the  thunder  was 
continuous  and  loud,  but  not  startlingly  near, 
and  the  wind  was  high  and  steady.  It  did  not 
come  with  the  hurricane's  rush,  but  its  force  was 
very  great ;  the  broad,  low  house  jarred  in  its 
clutches,  and  the  crash  of  falling  trees  sounded 
through  the  dash  and  pour  of  the  rain  like  the 
boom  of  minute  guns.  It  was  over  at  last,  and 
Olive  went  home.  The  world  looked  as  if  a 
miniature  deluge  had  visited  it.  There  were 
gaps  in  the  forest,  far  and  near,  through  which 
the  blue  sky  shone.  These  openings,  making 
the  landscape  strange,  marked  the  spots  where 
trees  had  fallen,  generally  the  largest  of  their 
kind,  weakened  by  age  and  decay.  Scores  of 
these  century-crowned  forest  kings  had  yielded 
to  the  blast, — among  them  the  hollow  tulip  tree 
which  old  Ludlow  had  chosen  for  his  treasure 
chest. 

Olive  found  her  mother  with  a  look  of  deep 
anxiety  on  her  face. 

"What  time  would  the  hand-cargo  back?" 
she  asked. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  117 

"  As  soon  as  possible  after  the  rain  stopped, 
I  should  think,"  Olive  replied.  "It  may  have 
passed  before  now." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  "I  have  been 
watching  the  road."  Still  the  happy  girl  had 
no  fears  for  her  lover. 

Late  that  evening  Mr.  Truesdale  rode  up  to 
the  house.  Both  himself  and  his  horse  were 
covered  with  mud,  and  the  animal  was  panting. 
Something  in  his  appearance  alarmed  Mr.  Kitz 
miller  and  his  son,  and  both  went  out  to  the 
road  as  soon  as  he  halted.  There  was  a  low- 
spoken  sentence  or  two,  then  Leander  said 
hoarsely,  — 

"  Great  Heaven  !  Who  will  tell  her?  It  will 
be  her  death-blow  ! " 

Rossington  and  Bonn  had  taken  refuse  in  a 

o  o 

farm-house,  as  Olive  had  said,  till  the  violence 
of  the  storm  was  over.  Then  they  started  back 
to  the  road  where  their  car  stood,  intending  to 
return  at  once  to  New  Madrid.  They  had  some 
rods  of  thick  timber  to  traverse,  and,  Avhen  mid 
way,  Frank  was  stricken  to  the  earth  by  the 
sudden  falling  of  a  great  branch  which  the  storm 
had  loosened.  Bonn's  cries  brought  to  his  as 
sistance  some  laborers  who  had  sought  shelter 


118  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

in  the  side  of  an  embankment.  Together  they 
carried  Rossington  back  to  the  house  he  had  just 
left,  and  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  the 
village. 

Then  in  what  wild  haste  they  rushed  out 
there  to  that  lonely  cabin  in  the  wilderness ! 
The  engineers,  the  doctors,  friends  who  had 
learned  to  love  the  genial  youth,  strangers  who 
had  only  seen  his  handsome  face  —  over  the 
slippery,  miry  road,  under  cracking  and  falling 
boughs,  they  galloped  with  reckless  speed ! 
Truesdale  and  the  surgeon,  upon  whom  John 
Thorn  had  pressed  the  use  of  his  fleet,  strong 
horse,  were  soonest  there  ;  but  the  life  they  had 
risked  their  own  to  stay  was  ebbing  fast.  The 
crashed  skull  was  raised ;  everything  was  done 
that  could  be  done,  but  all  to  no  avail.  When 
Truesdale  came  to  Kitzmiller's  it  was  to  tell  the 
worst,  and  to  say  that  they  were  bringing  him 
there  to  the  house  of  his  friends. 

Two  days  later  there  was  a  brief  and  touch 
ing  funeral  service,  in  the  presence  of  an 
assembled  multitude,  who  had  left  their  har 
vest  labors  far  and  near,  drawn  together  in 
self-forgetful  sympathy  over  this  appallingly 
sudden  death.  A  quartette  of  the  engineers 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  119 

broke    the    solemn    hush   with    an    appealing 
hyrnn. 

"  Peace,  be  still ! 
In  this  night  of  sorrow  bow, 
O  my  heart,  contend  not  thou! 
What  befalls  thee  is  God's  will  — 
Peace,  be  still ! 

"  Lord,  my  God ! 
Give  me  grace  that  I  may  be 
Thy  true  child,  and  silently 
Own  Thy  sceptre  and  Thy  rod  — 
Lord,  my  God!" 

None  who  that  day  heard  the  music  of  those 
rich  male  voices,  surcharged  with  deepest  feel 
ing  as  they  were,  can  ever  forget  its  heart 
breaking  sweetness. 

His  five  associates  followed  as  mourners  when 
the  body  of  poor  Frank  Rossington  was  borne 
to  its  grave  in  the  shadow  of  the  maples,  near 
the  old  beaver-dam,  with  its  growth  of  flutter 
ing  aspens  and  waving  willows.  It  was  sup 
posed  to  be  only  a  temporary  resting-place ; 
for  when  the  railroad  was  finished  his  mother 
would  doubtless  desire  his  removal  to  the  fam 
ily  plot,  near  his  eastern  home. 


120       JOHX  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

P:ile,  pitiful  little  Olive  was  strangely  quiet 
through  it  all.  On  the  first  morning  after  the 
death  she  said  to  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  who  was 
almost  distracted  with  grief  and  horror,  — 

"Don't  cry  so,  mother,  or  you  will  make  me 
cry.  I  must  keep  from  that  while  he  is  still 
here  with  me." 

She  did  not  forget  his  request,  but  when  the 
afternoon  came  she  dressed  herself  in  the  tea- 
rose  lawn,  and  put  on  her  pretty  necklace. 

"  O,  how  can  you  dress  like  that  to-day  ?  " 
said  Emily  Thorn.  And  Olive  replied,  — 

"Frank  said,  yesterday  morning,  he  would 
be  with  me  all  this  afternoon,  and  told  me  what 
to  wear." 

Then  she  went  in,  and  sat  for  hours,  gazing 
upon  the  dear,  still  face,  quite  natural  and  un 
injured,  till  every  line  was  imprinted  upon  her 
deepest  memory. 

"You  have  met  with  a  great  sorrow,"  said 
Mr.  Sweden,  when  he  came. 

"Yes,"  she  responded  earnestly,  "a  sorrow 
great  enough  to  fill  all  my  life,  no  matter  how 
long  it  may  be  ! "  There  wras  a  pathos  in  the 
tone  and  words  that  caused  the  minister's  heart 
to  swell  till  further  speaking  was  impossible. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  121 

She  however  continued,  in  the  same  strange 
voice,  like  that  of  one  who  bled  inwardly  and 
was  calm  in  the  face  of  death,  - 

"But  not  great  enough  to  cloud  my  trust  in 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God." 

"May  He  bless  and  comfort  you  for  those 
words." 

She  looked  up  with  her  dry,  mournful  eyes, 
to  see  the  strong  man's  face  drenched  with  tears 
and  convulsed. 

With  what  fearful  suddenness  that  wild  storm 
came  and  passed !  When  all  was  over  and 
quiet,  the  great  bouquet  of  marsh  flowers  still 
bloomed  brightly  in  the  blue  jug  on  the  table. 
The  wild  bees  soared  in  at  the  open  window, 
buzzed  about  it  for  a  moment,  then  out  and 
away,  hovering  next  over  the  fresh  earth  of  that' 
new  grave  on  the  hillside. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TDEOPLE  who  watched  Olive  Kitzmiller  in 
the  days  succeeding  Rossi ngton's  death 
wondered  immeasurably  at  her  calmness.  Some 
even  concluded  the  blow  had  not  hurt  her 
deeply.  Others,  who  knew  better,  apprehended 
a  sudden  breaking  down  of  health  or  mind 
along  with  that  marvellous  self-control.  They 
need  not  have  feared.  The  soul  within  that 
dimpled,  girlish  body  was  upborne  by  more 
than  mortal  strength.  She  suffered !  The 
black  wine  of  bereavement  gave  out  for  her  all 
its  pungent  bitterness.  A  thousand  stings  of 
disappointed  longing  pierced  her  tender  bosom 
daily.  Yet  she  was  not  without  consolation. 
No  language  could  express  the  sense  of  rich 
possession  she  enjoyed  in  the  memory  of  that 
precious  love  !  It  would  never  weaken  or  grow 
less.  His  last  words  to  her,  "  Mij  darling  — 
oh)  I  love  you!"  must  forever  repeat  themselves 
in  her  thoughts,  bringing,  in  the  dim  years  to 
come,  a  thrill  of  grateful  joy  more  heavenly 
sweet  than  the  living  companionship  of  husband 
122 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  123 

and  children  !  She  helped  her  mother,  waited 
upon  her  father,  and  took  long  walks  as  usual 
with  Emily  Thorn.  No  one  saw  her  weep. 
The  tears  were  quick  to  fill  her  soft  brown  eyes, 
but  she  never  let  them  fall.  At  night  she  re 
lieved  her  heart  with  crying ;  she  could  never 
have  slept  else. 

She  longed,  yet  dreaded,  to  hear  from  Frank's 
mother.  At  length  a  letter  came  ;  its  penetra 
ting  sympathy  was  hard  to  bear.  The  elder 
woman  felt  no  jealousy  in  her  great  sorrow,  but 
recognized  the  younger  woman's  right  to  mourn 
even  for  her  own  idol. 

"O,  you  poor  child!"  she  wrote.  "How 
will  you  bear  it  ?  You  are  so  young,  and  youth 
is  so  unreasoning  in  its  grief!  For  me  it  is  but 
another  tie  loosed.  I  have  resigned  much ;  I 
can  resign  him  when  I  have  agonized  a  while. 
In  a  very  little  time  these  sharp  struggles  will 
be  over  forever  with  me,  and  I  shall  rest  with 
my  beloved;  till  then  I  must  keep  my  heart  in 
patience.  But  you  have  not  had  the  schooling 
in  losses  that  time  brings  to  all,  and  this  must 
be  very  bitter  !  I  wish  I  could  see  you.  Some 
day  you  must  come  and  stay  with  me,  but  just 
now  we  might  not  do  each  other  any  good. 


124  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Tend  well  my  dear  boy's  grave.  If  he  sleeps 
in  a  pretty  place,  and  it  would  pain  you  to  have 
his  body  removed,  it  need  not  be  done." 

Friends  and  neighbors  came  to  Kitzmiller's, 
drawn  thither  by  the  mingled  sentiment  of 
curiosity  and  real  sympathy ;  but  when  they 
saw  Olive  they  could  not  speak  of  her  trouble. 
On  one  occasion  old  Mrs.  Wycoff  was  spending 
an  afternoon  with  her  mother.  Olive  was  sit 
ting  alone  on  the  porch  with  some  sewing  in  her 
hands,  and  heard  them  within  talking  of  Frank 
in  a  low  tone.  She  caught  the  words, 

"If  he  had  only  left  a  clearer  evidence  !  " 

Something  prompted  her  to  rise  and  go  in ; 
something  prompted  her  to  say, — 

r'  You  were  talking  of  Frank  as  though  he 
might  be  a  lost  soul.  How  can  you,  mother, 
who  knew  him,  imagine  such  a  thing?" 

"I  do  not  imagine  it,  my  child.  I  know  he 
is  in  the  hands  of  a  wise  and  merciful  God ;  but 
we  dare  not  mistake  amiability  for  grace." 

"  If  I  were  to  be  killed  suddenly,  would  you 
fear  for  my  eternity?"  asked  Olive. 

"No,  dear;  you  are  a  baptized  member  of 
the  visible  church,  and  the  child  of  many 
prayers." 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  125 

"  So  was  Frank,  if  it  will  comfort  you  to 
know  it.  He  was  more ;  he  was  a  confirmed 
member  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  had 
taken  the  Holy  Communion,  which  I  never 
have." 

"  Who  taught  you  to  say  f  the  Holy  Com 
munion'  in  that  way?"  said  Mrs.  Kitzmiller. 
"  It  is  a  phrase  of  Popery." 

"See,  mother,"  cried  Olive,  "this  was  in  his 
breast-pocket  when  he  died.  He  always  carried 
it."  She  drew  forth  a  little  book  of  devotions, 
and  laid  it  in  her  mother's  lap.  Its  prayers  and 
lessons  of  deepest  spirituality  had  been  to  Olive 
an  unspeakable  solace  ;  but  the  elder  woman  — 
tender  mother,  earnest  Christian  though  she  was 
—  looked  askance  at  the  cross  on  its  cover,  and 
pushed  it  aside  as  though  it  might  be  a  thing  of 
danger. 

The  autumn  days  drew  on,  and  Olive  received 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Rossington,  begging  an  invi 
tation  to  come  at  once  to  Indiana.  She  longed 
to  see  the  people  who  had  last  seen  and  talked 
with  her  son.  She  wanted  to  see  his  grave  be 
fore  the  snow  covered  it.  She  would  not 
trouble  them  long,  but  would  they  receive  her 
for  a  few  days?  She  was  not  very  strong,  but 


126  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

she  was  sure  she  could  bear  the  journey,  per 
haps  better  than  in  the  spring. 

Olive  showed  the  letter  to  her  mother,  who 
read  it  and  bent  her  brows  in  reflection. 

"It  is  the  conceit  of  a  troubled  mind,"  said 
the  farmer.  "I  wonder  if  she  has  thought 
of  the  fifty  miles  of  rough  staging  at  this  end 
of  the  route.  If  she  would  wait  till  spring,  the 
new  road  would  bring  her  to  our  door ;  but  she 
might  not  live  till  spring,  and  an  unsatisfied  heart 
is  a  sore  thing  to  carry.  What  are  you  studyin' 
about,  Lucy?  You  surely  can't  misdoubt  our 
ability  to  make  the  poor  lady  comfortable  for  a 
short  spell." 

"Dan'l,  you  vex  a  body!  If  I  ain't  alwa}rs 
dilatin'  and  explainiii'  my  thoughts,  you  're 
afraid  they  're  not  of  the  right  sort.  I  was  just 
debatin'  whether  to  let  Mrs.  Rossington  sleep  in 
the  parlor  bedroom,  or  give  her  the  spare  cham 
ber  that's  warmed  by  the  sitting-room  stove 
pipe.  It'll  be  cold  before  she  gets  here." 

"I'll  get  a  new  stove  for  the  parlor,"  said 
Kitzmiller.  "Them  stairs  is  steep  and  narrow." 

One  bright  October  afternoon  Olive  and  Mrs. 
Thorn  were  sitting  under  the  trees  in  Mr.  Kitz- 
miller's  yard.  They  had  been  talking  of  Mrs. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  127 

Kossington's  expected  arrival,  and  of  many 
other  things,  when,  looking  toward  Emily's 
home,  Olive  saw  Truesdule  dismounting  at  the 
gate. 

"Do  you  see  Mr.  Truesdale  very  often?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  not  now,"  was  the  answer.  "  He  and 
Mr.  Thorn  have  always  a  good  deal  of  business 
together,  but  I  always  go  away  when  I  think  he 
may  be  coming.  Do  you  know,  Olive,  I  heard 
what  those  women,  Mrs.  Frost  and  the  others, 
said  about  me  at  your  house  that  day  soon  after 
you  came  here.  Katy  WycofF  told  me  not  very 
long  ago.  Other  things  have  been  said  at  other 
times  and  places.  I  am  an  unfortunate  woman, 
but  I  am  an  honest  woman  ;  it  could  never  be 
possible  for  me  to  be  anything  else.  And 
Mr.  Truesdale  is  the  truest  gentleman  I  ever 
knew." 

After  a  little  pause  she  continued,  — 

"  I  hardly  dare  think  what  would  happen  if 
any  one  would  say  such  things  to  John  Thorn. 
I  do  not  deserve  to  have  enemies,  but  I  am 
afraid  I  have.  Who  could  that  strange  woman 
have  been  that  frightened  my  horse  last  autumn? 
I  can  see  her  yet,  and  it  wras  not  old  Bloodroot. 


128  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

If  they  could  make  him  believe  there  was  any 
thing  improper  about  me,  perhaps  he  would  kill 
me." 

Olive  started  in  horror. 

"  O  Emily  !  HOAV  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing !  He  could  never  harm  a  hair  of  your 
pretty  head.  He  loves  you!  " 
It  was  Emily's  turn  to  start. 
"  Olive,  hush  !  How  dare  you  say  that ! " 
"  Because  I  believe  it  —  I  know  it." 
"No, "said  the  other,  "it  is  not  true.  Be 
cause  you  love  me  so  well  you  think  he  must ; 
but  you  do  not  know  him.  You  have  heard 
how  he  married  me  ;  everyone  has  heard  that. 
I  think  he  grows  more  tired  of  my  presence 
every  day.  I  am  becoming  an  insupportable 
burden  to  him,  and  I  have  a  sort  of  expectation 
that  before  long  a  crisis  will  come  ;  he  will  find 
some  pretext  for  shaking  me  off.  I  will  await 
the  issue  and  do  nothing  to  hasten  it.  I  have 
been  the  victim  of  circumstances  all  my  life, 
and  circumstances  may  do  their  worst.  A 
while  before  you  came  I  would  have  gone  away 
from  here,  if  I  had  known  where  to  go.  Since 
then,  my  Olive,  I  have  been  almost  happ}T.  I 
am  thankful  I  have  been  with  you  so  much  ;  it 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  129 

shows  the  gossipping  world  that  I  am  fit  to  be 
received  by  such  correct,  Christian  people  as 
your  father  and  mother,  and  allowed  to  be  inti 
mate  with  their  only  daughter." 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Rossington  arrived  at  the 
farm-house.  Olive  had  seen  her  picture ;  she 
had  prepared  herself  to  meet  a  woman  tall  and 
fair,  because  Frank  was  tall  and  fair.  At  first 
she  could  hardly  adjust  her  ideas  of  Frank's 
mother  to  the  small  dark  lady,  whose  penetrat 
ing  ej'es  searched  everything  and  everyone  with 
such  keen  yet  kindly  interest.  The  tones  and 
accents  of  her  voice  in  conversation  recalled  her 
son  to  the  Kitzmillers  ;  like  him  she  was  given 
to  asking  questions  about  matters  that  were 
novel  and  strange  to  her.  She  had  lived  almost 
all  her  life  in  large  cities,  but  she  was  country- 
born,  and  a  thread  of  childish  associations 
familiarized  her  at  once  with  the  homely  routine 
of  farmhouse  life.  She  wore  plain  but  rich 
clothing,  and  carried  an  elegant  watch  in  her 
belt ;  but  she  frequently  busied  her  slim  hands 
with  Mrs.  Kitzmiller's  coarse  knitting-work, 
and  followed  the  farmer's  wife  into  kitchen  and 
spring-house,  honestly  delighted  with  the  nice 
order  everywhere  observable,  and  honestly  en- 


130  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

tertained   by   the    unpretentious  yet    shrewdly 
intelligent  conversation  of  her  hostess. 

She  made  her  first  visit  to  her  son's  grave 
alone  ;  after  that,  she  and  Olive  sometimes  went 
together.  Sitting  there  one  dreamy  afternoon 
by  that  newly  sodded  mound,  upon  which  the 
maples  were  sifting  a  slow  shower  of  gold,  she 
told  Olive  of  a  second  reason  for  her  visit.  She 
had  come  to  confirm  her  judgment  in  the  wisdom 
of  a  design  she  had  in  mind.  It  was  to  make 
over  to  Olive  the  share  in  Frank's  estate  which 
in  law  had  reverted  to  her,  his  mother,  as  his 
nearest  heir. 

"  I  do  not  need  it ;  his  sisters  do  not ;  neither 
do  you,  just  now,  but  I  think  it  would  please 
him.  It  pleases  me  to  do  this  for  his  sake,  and 
because  I  love  you." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Olive,  "most  of  all  for 
the  love."  After  a  little  silence,  she  said 
softly,  slipping  her  hand  into  that  of  the  elder 
woman,  "  It  may  help  me  to  live  well  the  life  I 
have  marked  out.  It  will  be  a  lonely  life,  but 
it  need  not  be  an  altogether  unfruitful  one." 

"Frank  used  to  write  me  of  your  sAveet, 
strong  voice,  — I  have  never  heard  you  sing,  — 
and  he  intended  to  have  you  educated  in  music 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  131 

after  marriage.  Do  you  ever  think  of  that 
now?" 

"I  think  of  it,"  Olive  replied,  "as  something 
to  do  in  the  future.  But  just  now,  this  year,  I 
can  do  nothing,  go  nowhere.  I  must  stay  right 
here  with  my  aching  sorrow  till "  —  The  sen 
tence  was  finished  with  falling  tears. 

A  little  later  a  smile  came  into  her  pale  face 
as  she  said, 

"  I  shall  never  forget  Frank's  amusement 
when  I  said  to  him  one  day  that  I  knew  there 
was  not  a  piano  within  a  range  of  four  counties, 
and  that  Emily  Thorn  had  never  seen  one  in 
her  life." 

"Your  friend  Mrs.  Thorn  interests  me  very 
much,"  said  Mrs.  Rossington.  "  I  should  like 
to  see  her  husband." 

"  She  interests  every  one,"  said  Olive,  in 
response  to  the  first  remark ;  and  then  she 
asked,  "Has  she  ever  spoken  to  you  of  her 
husband?" 

"  Yes,  once,"  said  the  widow,  briefly. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

the  first  moment  of  their  first  meet 
ing,  which  occurred  the  day  following- 
Mrs.  Rossington's  arrival  at  Kitzmiller's,  Emily 
Thorn  had  felt  strongly  drawn  toward  the 
strange  lady.  There  wras  an  air  of  quiet 
strength  , about  her  which  distinguished  her 
from  every  one  with  whom  Emily  had  asso 
ciated.  A  succession  of  varied  and  deep  ex 
periences  had  left  their  impress  upon  her, 
disciplining  judgment  and  will,  and  making  her 
one  whose  estimate  of  the  conditions  and  pos 
sibilities  of  life  must,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
have  more  than  common  weight.  She  was  a 
wise  woman ;  Emily  felt  this,  and  when  she 
found  she  was  accessible,  she  hardly  cared 
whether  she  was  sympathetic. 

They  had  an  hour  to  themselves  one  day,  and 
Mrs.  Thorn  suffered  this  new  friend,  from  a 
thousand  miles  distance,  to  look  into  her  do 
mestic  life  far  enough  to  be  able  to  understand 
that  it  was  one  of  strange  complications  and 
132 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.       133 

precarious  continuity.  At  the  close  of  the  in 
terview  Mrs.  Rossington  said, 

"  Where  would  you  go  if  the  day  should 
come  Avhen  some  inexorable  cause  would  con 
strain  you  to  leave  this  place  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Emily.  "I  am  a 
stranger  in  the  land." 

rf  To  have  no  tie  of  blood  in  the  wide  conti 
nent —  I  can  imagine  the  sense  of  isolation  it 
must  give.  But  if  that  day  should  come,  and 
I  am  alive,  let  mine  be  the  friend's  house  to 
give  you  welcome." 

"  You  are  boundlessly  good,"  said  Emily,  her 
smile  bright  with  tears. 

That  day  came,  —  sooner  perhaps  than  either 
anticipated.  Mrs.  Rossington  had  been  gone 
but  a  short  time,  when  the  crisis  arrived  of 
which  Emily  had  spoken  to  Olive  shortly  before 
her  coming. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  perfect  Indian-sum 
mer  day.  Emily  had  been  enjoying  it  out  of 
doors,  and  was  sitting  by  the  west  window  of 
the  bare  little  sitting-room  of  her  house,  watch 
ing  the  hazy  sunset,  and  resting  after  her  walk. 
Thorn  entered  suddenly ;  she  made  a  little 


134       JOHN  THOKN'S  FOLKS. 

/ 

startled  movement,  but  did  not  rise.  After 
waiting  a  few  moments,  that  she  might  not 
seem  abrupt,  she  rose  quietly  and  was  about 
to  leave  the  room,  when  he  addressed  her  in 
a  voice  of  suppressed  passion, — 

"  Mrs.  Thorn,  I  wish  you  would  stop  here, 
and  give  me  your  attention  for  half  an  hour. 
I  think  I  never  made  so  large  a  demand  upon 
you  before." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  then  resumed 
her  seat  by  the  window,  with  a  face  as  pallid  as 
the  dead.  John  stood  by  a  table,  nearly  in 
front  of  her ;  his  breath  wras  hurried,  as  if  he 
had  been  Aval  king  rapidly,  and  he  drew  forth 
his  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  thick  drops  of 
perspiration  from  his  brow.  He  took  from  a 
long,  leathern  pocket-book  some  papers,  and 
while  unfolding  and  arranging  them  he  said,  — 
"I  have  not  the  slightest  notion,  Emily,  of 
what  you  have  been  feeling  and  thinking  all 
these  months  and  years.  I  only  know  that  to 
me  life  has  been  almost  unsupportable.  But 
the  grand  mistake  has  be'en  one  of  my  own 
making,  and  I  could  go  on  as  I  have  done,  if  I 
did  not  think  there  might  be  something  better, 
or  at  least  pleasanter,  for  you." 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  135 

Then,  resting  his  hand  on  the  table,  and  as 
suming  unconsciously  an  attitude  of  superlative 
strength  and  grace,  he  looked  full  at  her  and 
said,  — 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  up  to  Truesdale" 

"John  Thorn  !"  she  cried  hotly,  "do  you  be 
lieve  me  to  be  a  guilty  woman?" 

"No,"  he  answered  promptly,  with  a  strange 
smile,  half  bitter,  half  tender ;  "  you  do  not 
look  like  that.  You  are  not  that  now,  and  I  do 
not  want  you  to  become  so." 

He  turned  to  the  papers  again. 

"Here  is  your  property  —  bank  certificates, 
notes,  and  securities  for  the  entire  amount,  ex 
cept  three  hundred  dollars,  which  I  paid  on  the 
Morse  land,  when  I  bought  it,  soon  after  you 
came  here.  That  land  cost  a  thousand  dollars, 
and  here  is  the  deed  ;  I  had  it  drawn  in  your 
name  at  the  time  of  the  purchase,  as  Wycoff 
can  tell  you.  And  here  is  fifty  dollars  of  my 
money  to  fee  Bolton  or  Lee,  or  any  other  law 
yer  you  may  choose,  who  will  file  your  petition 
and  secure  you  a  divorce.  Court  is  in  session 
now,  and  you  may  have  your  freedom  inside  of 
ten  days  if  you  move  in  the  matter  promptly. 
You  can  proceed  on  the  ground  of  incompati- 


136  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

bility,  if  you  will ;  or  if  you  feel  at  any  loss 
for  a  cause  of  action,  the  court  will  furnish  you 
one ;  they  keep  a  list  on  hand.  The  precious 
divorce  laws  of  this  God-forgotten  State  were 
made  for  just  such  cases  as  ours." 

He  folded  the  papers,  put  the  money  with 
them,  and  returned  all  to  the  pocket-book, 
which,  after  carefully  securing  the  strap,  he 
handed  to  Emily.  She  took  it  mechanically, 
and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"You  may  go  now,"  he  said. 

"But  where  shall  I  go?"  she  asked,  her 
tender  voice  breaking  in.  a  childlike  way. 

"Anywhere,  away  from  here,"  was  the  cold 
reply.  "  Truesdale  will  not  leave  you  long  in 
uncertainty.  He  will  see  you  soon,  but  he  can 
not  talk  with  you  under  this  roof." 

Still  she  hesitated  and  lingered. 

"  I  saw  him  not  three  hours  ago.  He  took 
great  satisfaction  in  saying  how  ardently  he 
loved  you,  and  hoAv  deeply  he  pitied  you." 

"  You  saiv  him  !  "  she  demanded,  flushing  red. 

"Yes,  I  went  to  his  office  on  business,  and 
while  there  I  accidentally  brushed  down  from  a 
shelf  a  handful  of  dried  weeds.  He  picked 
them  up  and  put  them  carefully  away,  saying, 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  137 

as  he  did  so,  that  the  woman  he  adored  had 
once  trimmed  his  horse's  bridle  with  those  ferns. 
I  understood  him,  as  he  intended  I  should;  and 
in  about  iive  minutes  he  understood  me.  He 
stands  ready  to  marry  you  the  moment  the  bond 
between  us  is  cancelled.  He  does  not  despair 
of  being  able  to  win  your  love,  though  there 
has  never  been  a  word  or  act  on  your  part '  in 
consistent  with  the  most  disinterested  friend 
ship.'  You  know  how  the  damned  jackanapes 
hunts  around  for  long  words." 

She  walked  to  the  door  in  a  bewildered  way, 
then  turned  and  looked  at  him  again.  She  felt 
a  sudden  strange  impulse  to  throw  herself  upon 
his  breast  and  beg  him  to  keep  and  care  for  her. 
But  she  remembered  that  he  had  talked  with 
Tntesdale,  and  her  cheeks  burned  again.  She 
took  her  hat  from  a  bench  on  the  porch  and 
went  away  in  the  deepening  twilight. 

A  while  later  she  tapped  at  Kitzmiller's  kitchen 
door.  The  farmer  himself  opened  it  and  ex 
claimed  upon  seeing  her,  — 

"  Why,  it 's  Mrs.  Thorn  !  Come  in,  come  in  ! 
How  queer  you  look  with  that  big,  black 
pocket-book !  Have  you  been  robbing  some 
body?" 


138  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"No,  I  have  done  nothing,"  was  the  reply ; 
"no  harm  to  anybody  in  the  world;  but  John 
Thorn  has  turned  me  out  of  doors." 

Olive's  arms  were  about  her  in  an  instant,  and 
she  sank  down  slowly  upon  the  calico  lounge 
near  the  door.  Then  a  look  of  surprise  came 
into  her  eyes,  and  a  smile,  wran  enough,  but 
with  pleasure  in  it,  flitted  over  her  face. 

"I  believe  I  am  going  to  die  ! "  she  said,  and, 
with  a  long  sigh,  fainted  quite  away. 

Late  that  night  she  was  able  to  tell  Mrs. 
Kitzmiller  and  Olive  what  John  had  said  before 
sending  her  awray.  When  she  had  finished  Mrs. 
Kitzmiller  asked,  — 

"Are  you  glad  or  sorry  that  this  has  hap 
pened  ?  " 

"  It  had  to  come,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I 
would  not  undo  what  is  done  ;  but  I  am  glad 
for  nothing.  I  feel  injured  and  humiliated  and 
utterly  sad.  I  am  more  forlorn  than  Hagar,  for 
she  had  her  little  boy.  What  a  contempt  I 
have  always  felt  for  Abraham !  Mrs.  Kitz 
miller,  my  greatest  anxiety  now  is,  that  you 
and  Olive  may  not  think  ill  of  me  for  the 
strange  position  in  which  I  am  placed." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  on  that  head,"  was 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  139 

the  good  woman's  instant  reply.  She  was  stand 
ing  before  Olive's  bed  on  which  Emily  lay, 
touching,  from  time  to  time,  the  rich-colored 
hair  and  white  forehead  with  the  corner  of  a 
fine  towel  wrung  out  of  camphor-water. 

"  I  can  see  how  it  came  about.  It  has  all 
grown  out  of  your  singular  way  of  living  with 
your  husband.  It  has  been  a  good  deal  talked 
about,  and  Truesdale  came  to  think  he  had  a 
right  to  like  you.  I  don't  believe  you  ever 
knowin'ly  gave  him  that  right,  but  now  I  sup 
pose  you  will  see  him  and  listen  to  him." 

"I  will  see  him  once  after  what  has  passed," 
said  Emily,  "  but  I  will  see  him  only  in  your 
presence,  and  listen  to  nothing  that  you  may 
not  hear." 

"  But  you  will  get  your  bill  and  marry  Mr. 
Truesdale,  as  Thorn  expected?" 

"I  shall  sue  for  a  bill  as  he  told  me  to  do ;  he 
wants  his  liberty  and  he  shall  have  it.  Perhaps 
he  wants  to  marry  again  —  I  almost  think  he 
does —  but  I  do  not.  He  may  cast  me  off,  but 
he  cannot  dispose  of  me.  How  careful  he  was 
to  give  me  back  the  money  !  " 

"  He  never  cared  for  that  money,"  said  Olive, 
kneeling  by  her  friend's  side.  "It  is  perhaps 


140  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

too  late  now,  but  I  ought,  weeks  and  months 
ago,  to  have  made  you  know  how  earnestly  I 
believe  that  he  married  you  for  love  and  love 
alone.  He  did  it  in  a  stupid,  blundering  sort 
of  way ;  yet  I  am  sure  he  loved  you." 

"  Olive,  you  do  not  know  what  you  are  say 
ing,"  Emily  responded.  "  It  is  impossible  for 
one  like  you  to  comprehend  a  nature  as  cold 
and  hard  as  his.  Perhaps  he  came  to  wish  me 
—  to  be  more  to  him  than  I  was,  but  I  held 
him  to  the  letter  of  the  bond ;  and  he  grew 
weary  and  chafed  under  it.  I  was  handed  over 
to  him  by  my  father  as  an  incumbrance  with 
that  bit  of  money ;  now  he  is  glad  to  thrust  it 
and  me  away  from  him." 

To  this  aspect  of  the  case,  that  she  was, 
through  no  fault  of  her  own,  a  homeless  outcast, 
she  recurred  again  and  again,  till  towards  morn 
ing,  when  she  fell  into  a  feverish  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


were  common  in  northern  In 
diana,  and  they  were  not  uncommon  in  the 
TVycoff  settlement.  Jared  Wycoff's  youngest 
sister  had  been  twice  married  and  twice  di 
vorced,  and  was  awaiting,  in  her  father's  house, 
a  third  opportunity.  The  grounds  upon  which 
divorces  were  obtained  were  as  often  ludicrous 
as  serious.  They  ranged  all  the  way  from  cold 
feet,  and  flies  in  the  pudding,  to  drunken  cru 
elty  and  the  graver  cause  recognized  by  Scrip 
ture.  This  door  stood  plainly  open  before 
Emily,  but  she  had  never  contemplated  seeking 
her  liberty  through  it.  She  scarcely  needed 
more  personal  liberty  than  she  enjoyed.  She 
had  often  longed  for  escape  from  a  false  posi 
tion,  but  that  she  should  ever  take  any  steps  to 
wards  achieving  it  seemed  impossible.  Thorn's 
desire  to  do  so  had  once  or  twice  made  itself 
apparent  to  her  ;  but  she  had  always  done  him 
gross  injustice.  Hers  was  a  nature  in  which 
impressions  took  root  and  grew,  false  ones 
as  readily  as  right  ones.  She  believed  him 

141 


142  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

to  have  been  actuated  in  the  first  place  by  avarice 
alone  ;  any  personal  sentiment  he  might  have  for 
her  must  be  basely  secondary.  That  he  had  for 
years  cherished  for  her  a  passion  as  pure  and 
chivalrous  as  that  of  any  red-cross  knight  never 
entered  her  imagination. 

Twice  she  had  been  strongly  inclined  to  leave 
him ;  once  soon  after  his  illness,  of  which  we 
have  spoken,  and  again  after  her  recovery  from 
the  injury  she  received  when  her  horse  threw 
her.  Each  time,  the  reaction  he  experienced 
from  hope  to  despair  told  on  Thorn's  face  and 
manner ;  and  she  attributed  his  avoidance  of 
his  home  and  of  her  to  dislike  and  weariness. 
Her  absolute  loneliness  stood  in  the  way  of  her 
taking  any  decisive  step.  Even  then  she  never 
seriously  thought  of  joining  the  endless  pro 
cession  which  filed  through  the  divorce  courts. 
The  traditions  of  an  orderly,  Bible-reading 

i'     '  O 

ancestry  tinctured  all  her  blood.  She  came  of 
conservative  and  essentially  respectable  people. 
Her  poor,  half-crazed  old  father  was  perhaps 
the  chief  sinner  of  them  all ;  and  he  sinned 
strictly  within  safe  domestic  limits.  In  the 
home  of  the  Kitzmillers,  with  their  Puritan 
beliefs  and  ways,  she  found  a  congenial  atmos- 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  143 

phere.  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  herself  could  hardly 
have  recoiled  more  surely  from  the  suggestion 
of  divorce  for  the  sake  of  other  marriage  than 
did  Emily,  when  it  was  put  barely  and  boldly 
before  her  by  Thorn.  Truesdale  had  never 
appeared  to  her  in  the  light  of  a  lover.  His 
open  admiration,  his  delicate  yet  persistent 
attentions,  had  glanced  harmlessly  from  the 
armor  of  innocent  ignorance,  of  modest  self- 
esteem,  that  encased  her.  That  evening's 
work,  however,  changed  everything.  Creation 
had  lapsed  into  chaos,  and  the  shocked  atoms 
must  be  reconstructed  into  new  forms. 

Out  of  the  confused  whirl  of  impressions 
which  thronged  her  mind  upon  awaking  from  a 
few  hours'  slumber,  one  or  two  ideas  were  dis 
tinctly  formulated.  Her  moorings  were  loosed, 
and  she  was  adrift  on  the  current  of  circum 
stance.  A  near  and  certain  contingency  was  a 
meeting  with  Horace  Truesdale,  and  all  that  it 
implied.  He  had  loved  her  while  she  belonged 
to  Thorn  —  allowed  himself  to  love  her,  know 
ing  his  love  meant  dishonor  to  her  and  treason 
to  the  friend  he  had  more  than  once  been 
pleased  to  describe  as  "the  finest  fellow  upon 
earth."  Yet  he  had  loved  and  pitied  her;  a 


144  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

thrill  of  gratitude  pierced  her  heart.  His  was 
a  nature  whose  generous  warmth  would  sun  a 
woman's  life  into  bloom  and  beauty !  Her 
thoughts  flew  frightened  away  from  the  subject, 
but  ever  came  back  like  drunken  insects  to 
poisoned  honey. 

As  Thorn  had  said,  Truesdale  did  not  long 
leave  Emily  in  uncertainty.  He  called  early  in 
the  forenoon  at  the  farm-house  and  inquired  for 
Mrs.  Thorn.  His  manner  toward  Mrs.  Kitz- 
miller  was  that  of  grave  deference,  while  he 
noticed  Olive  but  slightly.  His  face  was  pale 
and  somewhat  anxious,  and  he  looked  as  though 
he  had  not  slept. 

Mrs.  Kitzmiller  persistently  refused  to  be 
present  at  the  interview,  which  was  not  a  long 
one.  The  good  woman  was  much  tumbled  up 
and  down  in  her  mind,  and  went  about  her 
morning's  work  in  an  excited  manner.  In  such 
moods  she  talked  rapidly,  and  dropped  her  final 
g's  with  reckless  indifference  as  to  effect. 

"The  idea  of  such  a  state  of  things  bein' 
possible  !  "  she  said  to  her  husband,  who  sat 
near  the  kitchen  door,  scraping  a  neAv  axe-helve 
with  a  piece  of  broken  glass.  "  To  think  of  a 
strange  man  talkin'  love  to  a  married  woman, 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  145 

right  here  in  my  own  house,  and  we  :i  lettin' 
him  !  But  what  can  a  body  do  ?  I  can't  in  my 
heart  blame  that  poor  girl  for  any  part  of  this 
miserable  business,  unless  it's  for  not  tryin' to 
like  her  man  after  she  was  tied  up  to  him. 
She's  just  had  the  queerest  luck  that  ever  a 
mortal  was  born  to,  and  I  pity  her  from  my 
very  soul.  And  Truesdale,  seein'  how  the 
plaguey  laws  were  here,  just  laid  out  to  get  her. 
And  it  seems  John  Thorn  was  only  too  glad  to 
let  him  have  her." 

"I  don't  believe  Mr.  Thorn  is  glad  at  all," 
said  Olive.  "He  was  jealous,  and  angry,  and 
cruel,  but  he  is  not  glad  to  lie  free  of  her ;  he 
is  perfectly  wretched  to-day.  Emily  thinks  he 
wants  to  marry  some  one  else,  but  I  feel  sure  it 
is  not  so." 

"Anyhow,  he  has  no  business  to  want  to," 
resumed  her  mother ;  "  nor  she  either,  for  the 
matter  of  that.  It's  a  miserable  mess,  and  the 
disgraceful  divorce  lawrs  are  to  blame  for  it.  If 
people  didn't  know  they  could  get  free  just  for 
the  askin',  the  Old  Harry  wouldn't  put  mis 
chief  into  their  heads  half  as  often  as  he  does. 
Not  that  I  think  he  's  ever  put  any  into  Emily's  ; 
she 's  as  good  as  the  best." 


146  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

So  she  fumed  and  worked,  stiffening  up  her 
bread-sponge,  and  clear-starching  a  few  fine 
things  of  Olive's,  which  had  been  put  by  from 
the  plain  ironing.  Presently  they  heard  the 
front  door  open  and  close,  and  a  little  later 
they  saw  Truesdale  ride  away  from  the  house. 

In  that  interview  of  an  hour  Emily's  attract 
iveness  with  Truesdale  wras  immeasurably  en 
hanced.  He  found  her  pallid  and  listless, 
anxious  only  that  their  conference  should  close 
speedily.  When  he  spoke  of  his  desire  to 
make  her  his  wife  in  the  event  of  her  becoming 
legally  free,  she  blushed,  and  her  heavy  eyelids 
drooped.  After  this  momentary  confusion  she 
told  him  in  a  steady,  voice  what  she  had  said  in 
substance  to  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  the  night  before. 
She  intended  procuring  a  divorce,  more  on 
Thorn's  account  than  her  own ;  but  she  did  not 
intend  to  marry.  She  was  grateful  for  his 
pity,  his  interest,  his  condescension  in  offering 
his  name  and  protection  to  one  so  homeless 
and  almost  friendless.  Then  his  studied  self- 
restraint  gave  way,  and  she  was  forced  to  listen 
to  the  most  ardent  protestations  and  pleadings. 
He  censured  himself  for  precipitancy,  and  be 
wailed  the  fact  of  his  having  plunged  her  into  a 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  147 

vortex  of  annoyance  and  trouble,  urging  as  his 
only  excuse  his  earnest  desire  to  make  her  ulti 
mately  happy,  and  his  confident  belief  in  his 
power  to  do  so.  She  interrupted  him  with  a 
sudden  gesture  of  appeal,  and  begged  him 
again  to  leave  her. 

He  remembered,  as  he  rode  away,  that  the 
weary  indifference  of  her  manner  had  dissolved 
and  given  place  to  a  tinge  of  warmer  life  ;  that 
when  he  rose  to  depart  she  had  lifted  to  his 
face  tearful  eyes  full  of  confidence,  and  had 
suffered  him  to  take  her  hand  and  kiss  it.  He 
remembered  also  that  she  had  forbidden  him  to 
attempt  seeing  her  again  while  she  retained  the 
name  of  wife. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  T  the  end  of  a  month  the  decree  of  divorce 
had  been  granted,  and  Emily  Thorn  had 
gone  from  the  Wycoff  settlement.  Her  desti 
nation  was  known  to  the  Kitzmillers  and  to  one 
other  person,  and  it  was  their  secret.  Immedi 
ately  after  the  separation  she  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Rossington  and  received  a  prompt  reply,  re 
newing  the  offer  made  in  the  conversation 
recorded  a  few  pages  back. 

rf  Come,"  she  wrote,  "and  share  my  quiet 
home,  for  a  time,  at  least,  till  some  door  opens 
in  the  blank  wall  of  the  future." 

After  the  reception  of  this  letter  Emily 
brightened  a  good  deal.  Olive  felt  hurt  at  the 
eager  longing  she  manifested  to  be  gone. 

"  I  am  not  glad  to  leave  you  and  3^0111-  dear 
mother,"  Emily  said,  in  reply  to  a  gentle  re 
proach ;  "I  grieve  to  give  you  up,  but  you  are 
all  I  have  to  leave,  and  I  can  bear  it  for  the 
sake  of  putting  behind  me  all  the  rest.  I  am 
not  one  with  this  community,  and  never  have 
been.  I  have  been  regarded  with  suspicion 
148 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  149 

and  dislike  always  ;  as  something  foreign  and 
strange,  though  I  have  interfered  with  no  one. 
If  I  had  been  ugly  I  might  have  been  accused 
of  witchcraft,  so  eccentric  have  I  seemed.  Ah, 
yes,  I  shall  be  quite  warm  and  cheery  when  I 
am  far  away  !  My  life  has  been  so  bare  and 
cold ;  only  for  you,  Olive,  I  should  have  frozen 
quite  ! " 

Truesdale  begged  earnestly  for  the  privilege 
of  accompanying  her  at  least  over  the  earlier 
and  rougher  stages  of  her  journey  eastward, 
but  she  refused. 

"  If  I  may  not  accompany  you,  I  will  surely 
follow  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  dare  not  allow  it,"  Emily  answered. 
"  Mrs.  Rossington  has  never  taken  you  into  ac 
count  when  extending  to  me  her  incomparable 
friendship." 

"  I  will  never  compromise  you  with  Mrs. 
Rossington,"  said  he,  "  but  I  am  quite  determined 
to  be  taken  into  account,  first  or  last." 

A  little  smile,  which  was  half  a  grimace, 
flitted  over  her  delicate  face  as  she  said,  — 

"I  had  fully  determined  to  run  away  from 
you  with  all  the  other  annoyances." 

" Do  I  annoy  you? "  he  asked  earnestly.     "  I 


150  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

am  very  sorry.  How  can  it  be  when  I  love  you  ! 
And  I  believe  you  love  me,  or  will." 

rf  You  feel  for  me  the  deepest,  kindest  sym 
pathy,  and  always  have  ;  and  my  heart  goes  out 
to  you  in  gratitude.  O  Horace  — there,  I  have 
called  you  that  to  show  how  I  trust  and  like 
you  —  put  yourself  out  of  the  question  for  a 
while !  Let  me  depart  alone  and  in  peace ! 
Time  will  tell  whether  we  need  each  other  as 
you  think.  I  am  tired  and  do  not  want  to  be 
agitated  with  any  strong  emotion  for  a  great 
while  —  for  ages  and  ages  !  I  shall  have  rest 
where  I  am  going,  and  the  companionship  of  a 
wise  and  good  woman  ;  it  will  be  enough." 

"It  will  not  be  enough,"  he  said,  "or  I  am 
deceived  in  you  as  I  have  never  been  in  woman 
before.  But  you  shall  have  your  way  and  your 
time.  Some  day,  however,  you  will  see  me  in 
Albany.  I  am  going  to  leave  NCAV  Madrid  for 
good  and  all,  some  time  this  winter;  and  what 
would  be  more  natural  than  that  I  should  return 
to  my  boyhood's  home  on  the  Hudson,  a  few 
miles  from  that  city?  Mrs.  Rossington  is  no 
stranger  to  my  name  and  my  family,  nor,  indeed, 
to  me.  I  wrote  her,  jointly  with  Sayward,  the 
letter  that  gave  a  detailed  account  of  her  sou's 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  151 

last  movements,  and  of  his  death.  Then,  too, 
I  chanced  to  be  at  Fort  Wayne  when  she  reached 
that  point  on  her  journey  here  this  fall,  and  we 
made  the  stage-ride  in  company." 

"  So  Olive  has  told  me  ;  and  that  you  kindly 
made  business  for  yourself  at  Fort  Wayne  about 
the  time  of  her  return,  and  accompanied  her  so 
far  on  her  homeward  journey  ;  but  what  of  all 
that?" 

"  Simply  this,  that  I  have  had  my  introduc 
tion.  Since  your  latest  plans  have  been  made,  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  to  write  to  Mrs.  Rossing- 
ton,  telling  her  plainly  of  my  desire  to  marry 
you,  and  begging  her  good  offices  toward  that 
consummation.  I  think  I  have 'made  it  clearly 
apparent  to  her,  that  any  ordinary  objection  to 
divorce  and  subsequent  marriage  must  be 
markedly  wide  of  application  in  this  particular 
case.  I  do  not  expect  an  answer,  but  I  am  not 
afraid  of  my  reception  by  her,  when  I  call  upon 
you  at  her  house,  some  weeks  —  or  years  shall 
I  say?  —  hence." 

Emily's  preparations  for  departure  were  soon 
made.  Olive  was  helping  one  day  with  some 
sewing.  They  had  worked  in  silence  for  an 
hour,  when  Emily  said,  — 


152  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"  How  strange  that  /  should  be  going  to  spend 
the  winter  in  Albany  instead  of  you  ! " 

"  You  have  spoken  my  very  thought,"  said 
Olive,  with  the  piteous  little  smile  that  always 
accompanied  her  strong  efforts  at  self-control. 
This  time  her  efforts  failed.  Her  regret  at  part 
ing  from  Emily,  added  to  her  other  deeper  sor 
row,  was  too  much.  Her  breast  heaved  with  a 
great  sob,  and  she  put  by  her  work  to  save  it 
from  a  shower  of  tears.  Emily  held  her  in  her 
arms  and  smoothed  the  wavy  brown  hair,  while 
the  poor,  loving  child  wept  on  her  shoulder,  till 
she  could  weep  no  more. 

"  Poor  Frank  !  "  were  her  first  words.  "  I 
wish  I  could  get  over  this  unutterable  pity  for 
him  !  He  was  so  young,  and  loved  life  so  well ! 
His  happiness  is  greater  in  heaven,  I  suppose, 
—  I  believe;  but  he  was  happy  enough  here, 
and  he  would  have  chosen  to  stay  —  with  me." 

She  lifted  her  head  quickly,  threw  aside  her 
tear-wet  handkerchief  and  pressed  Emily's  fresh 
one  to  her  hot  eyes  ;  then  she  took  up  the  sew 
ing  again. 

"Don't  work,"  said  Emily,  "if  you  do  not 
feel  like  it." 

"  But  I  do  feel  like  it,"  she  responded ;  "  it  is 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  153 

a  pleasure  to  do  things  for  people,  and  this 
needs  to  be  done  to-day." 

The  day  before  Emily  took  her  departure 
Squire  Wycoff  called  to  conclude  a  business 
settlement,  he  having  acted  for  her  as  a  sort  of 
trustee  since  her  father's  death.  They  were 
quite  alone  during  this  interview.  When  all  was 
finished  Emily  expressed  her  thanks  warmly 
for  the  thoughtful  interest  he  had  always  mani 
fested  for  her  welfare.  A  sudden  wave  of  deep 
feeling  swept  into  his  pale,  sensitive  face,  as  he 
arose  and  took  up  his  hat  and  cane. 

"It  is  none  of  my  concern,  perhaps,"  he 
said,  "but  I  have  had  a  heartache  over  this 
break-up." 

"You  are  too  kind,"  said  Emily;  "pray  do 
not  feel  for  me  so  deeply.  I  shall  soon  be  far 
away  where  gossip  cannot  reach  me,  then  it 
will  be  easier  to  forget.  The  worst  is  over 
now." 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Jared, 
but  it  is  not  for  you  I  feel  the  most.  You  will 
be  consoled,  but  John  Thorn  never  will." 

"  He  thinks  he  has  done  right,  and  will  not 
suffer  self-reproach  as  you  suppose." 

"You   misunderstand    me   again.      He   has, 


154  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

perhaps,  less  cause  for  self-reproach  than  for 
self-pity.  But  I  reproach  myself.  I  helped  to 
set  his  heart  on  fire  with  expectation.  When 
he  spoke  to  me  of  his  long-cherished  love  for 
you,  and  his  plan  for  obtaining  you,  in  a  sense 
against  your  will,  I  told  him  to  go  on.  I  told 
him  an  honest,  manly,  self-conquering  passion, 
such  as  hi&,  must,  in  time,  win  in  return.  He 
never  broached  the  subject  to  me  after  your 
marriage  day  ;  I  knew  he  was  living  the  life  of 
a  starving  man  in  sight  of  food,  but  I  never 
lost  faith  in  my  own  prophecy  till  I  heard  of 
your  sudden  separation.  Yes,  I  feel  for  him;  I 
almost  fear  for  him.  Though  he  is  a  grand 
specimen  of  physical  perfection,  and  I  am  what 
I  am,  I  would  not  change  places  with  him  this 
hour  if  I  could." 

He  shook  the  fair,  soft  hand  that  had  sud 
denly  grown  icy  cold ;  repeated  his  wife's  mes 
sages  of  remembrance  and  farewell,  then  said 
gently,  reluctantly,  — 

"  Well  —  good-by ,  good-by ." 

She  stood  where  he  had  left  her  for  a  minute, 
passing  one  cold  hand  over  the  other.  From 
the  kitchen  came  the  cheerful  sounds  of  table- 
setting,  the  burr  of  the  coffee-mill,  and  Mrs. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  155 

Kitzmiller's  voice  talking  with  some  one  who 
had  just  come  in.  She  turned  and  left  the  still 
room  with  its  deepening  shadows.  It  was  Davy 
Ransom  who  had  come  in  ;  he  was  sitting  by  the 
stove  and  looked  up  with  his  usual  good-natured 
grin  when  Emily  appeared. 

"Good-evening,  Davy,"  she  said;  "so  you 
have  come  to  bid  me  good-by.  I  am  glad  you 
thought  of  it," 

He  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  drew  the  back 
of  one  rnittened  hand  across  his  eyes.  Pres 
ently  he  got  up  and  started  off ;  at  the  door  he 
paused,  and  beckoned  Emil}r  to  come  out.  She 
picked  up  a  little  shawl  from  the  lounge,  threw 
it  over  her  head  and  followed  him  outside. 

"  I  got  something  to  tell  ye,  an'  something  to 
gin  ye/'  he  said,  backing  up  against  a  post  of 
the  verandah. 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me? " 

"  That  cute  little  smooth-handled  mallet  I 
made  ye  to  chip  bark  with,  ye  mind.  I'm 
goin'  to  keep  that  's  long  's  I  live  to  'member 
ye  by." 

"You  may  keep  it,  Davy;  I  like  to  be  re 
membered." 

"  And  ye  mind  that  fall  ye  husked  corn  with 


156  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

me  in  the  field  beyant  the  sap-bush?  Ye  said 
one  day  ye  wisht  ye  had  a  cute  little  peg  that 
'ud  just  fit  yer  hand.  Well,  I  made  ye  one, 
but  ye  did  n't  come  to  the  field  no  more,  and  I 
never  gin  it  to  ye.  I  brought  it  'long  to-night. 
Maybe  ye  won't  need  it  where  yer  goin' ;  but  I 
made  it  for  ye  anyhow." 

She  took  the  husking-peg  of  polished  hickory, 
with  its  finger-strap  of  soft  buckskin,  and  looked 
at  it  carefully  in  the  dim  light. 

"It  is  a  very  good  peg,  Davy,  and  you  were 
very  kind  to  make  it  for  me.  I  will  keep  it 
alwa}rs  to  remember  you  by. 

Still  he  lingered. 

"I  reckon  you're  awful  mad  at  yon  feller?" 
motioning  towards  the  tan-house,  at  an  upper 
window  of  which  a  light  burned.  She  said 
nothing,  and  he  went  on,  — 

"I  'lowed  to  tell  ye,  ye  couldn't  be  wuss  out 
with  him  than  he 's  out  with  himself.  He  just 
walks  !  I  wunst  saw  a  caged  critter  to  a  show  ; 
he  walks  like  that  —  nights,  I  mean." 

"  How  do  you  know  what  he  does  of  nights  ? 
You  know  you  are  the  hardest  sleeper !  Noth 
ing;  can  wake  vou." 

O  ** 

"  I  kin  wake  myself  when  I  'm  a  mind  to,  and 


JOHN  THOEN'S  FOLKS.  157 

I  hev  for  three  nights  now,  and  crep'  into  the 
shop  at  midnight.  He  was  walkin'  up  there  — 
boots  on  —  hadn't  had  'em  off." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  then  broke 
forth  with  a  great,  gasping  sob. 

"  O,  Lord  !  I  can't  stand  it  to  see  him  ack 
so  and  not  do  nothin' !  He  's  done  for  me  ever 
since  my  dad  and  mother  both  gin  out  with  the 
fever  the  same  year.  I  was  n't  eight  year  old." 
He  was  crying. 

"  Good-by,  Davy,"  Emily  said  ;  "  I  must  not 
stay  here  any  longer,  it  is  very  cold.  Go  home, 
now.  Good-by." 

He  dashed  his  mitten  across  his  eyes  again, 
and  said,  half  defiantly,  as  he  shuffled  off  in  the 
darkness,  — 

"A  dog  may  love  a  man,  an'  I'm  no  wuss  'n 
a  do£r." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ri  THE  change  from  New  Madrid  to  old  Albany 
was  a  very  great  one ;  but  Emily  was  less 
bewildered  by  it  than  she  had  anticipated.  Her 
constant  and  varied  reading  had  familiarized  her 
thoughts  with  methods  of  living  other  than  those 
she  was  personally  accustomed  to.  She  met 
with  few  things  that  were  totally  strange  to  her 
knowledge.  Her  new  home  was  one  of  elegance 
and  refinement,  but  she  was  not  utterly  lost  in 
it.  She  had  seen  such  homes  in  books,  and 
visited  them  in  her  dreams. 

Mrs.  Rossington  lived  in  close  retirement, 
her  daughters  and  a  few  chosen  friends  forming 
the  very  small  circle  in  which  she  moved.  Her 
duties  to  the  church  and  the  poor  claimed  a  part 
of  her  time.  Then  she  was  very  fond  of  music, 
and  kept  up  her  own  piano  practice  in  a  way 
not  common  with  ladies  of  her  age.  Her  chil 
dren  and  friends  accepted  her  new  protegee  uh- 
questioningly.  They  learned  from  her  scant 
revelations  that  the  protegee  was  their  peer  in 
every  womanly  excellence ;  that  she  was  with- 
158 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  159 

out  kindred  this  side  the  ocean,  and  that  she 
was  in  need  of  just  such  a  friend  as  Mrs.  Ros- 
sington  had  chosen  to  become.  That  sufficed 
them. 

"  Miss  Ludlow  has  the  style  of  beauty  that, 
whether  in  man  or  woman,  always  enslaved  my 
mother."  So  said  Mrs.  Wheeler,  the  eldest 
daughter. 

"  My  father  had  it,  and  Frank  inherited  it  from 
him.  It  was  the  violet  eyes,  white  skin,  and 
gold-brown  hair  that  made  the  telling  appeal." 

At  first  Mrs.  Rossington  gave  her  guest  her 
exclusive  attention.  The  change  of  location 
necessitated  for  Emily  a  new  and  suitable  ward 
robe,  and  her  hostess  interested  herself  in  its 
preparation  with  true  feminine  zest.  Emily's 
wonderful  grace  was  a  source  of  genuine  pleas- 
sure  to  her  new-found  friend,  who  delighted  to 
note  the  effect  upon  her  of  tasteful  and  modish 
attire.  As  days  passed  they  became  deeply  and 
well  acquainted  ;  the  elder  woman  acting  always 
the  part  of  enlightener  as  well  as  sympathizer. 
Notwithstanding  all  this  kindness,  and  the  con 
geniality  of  her  new  surroundings,  Emily  felt 
the  old  unrest  coming  back  upon  her  strongly, 
with  something  added  —  a  tinge  of  self-blame 


160  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

for  what  she  hardly  knew  ;  possibly  for  certain 
stubborn  crudities  of  disposition  and  consequent 
past  action,  for  which,  after  all,  she  was  not  to 
blame. 

Mrs.  Kitzmiller  had  said  to  her,  — 

"  Begin  your  new  life  as  cheerfully  and  hope 
fully  as  possible.  There  is  a  place  for  you  in 
the  world  —  the  right  place.  Keep  your  head 
level  and  }'our  conscience  clear,  and  your  road 
to  that  place  will  be  made  plain." 

She  tried  to  remember  the  good  woman's 
words  and  draw  comfort  from  them  ;  but,  in 
spite  of  everything,  a  sense  of  want  and  isola 
tion  at  times  weighed  her  down.  She  belonged 
to  no  one  ;  no  one  belonged  to  her.  What  if 
peril,  sickness,  or  death  should  come?  It  would 
be  hard  to  go  down  with  no  loving  arms  stretched 
wildly  forth  to  hold  her  back !  She  thought  of 
Truesdale ;  he  had  offered  her  much  —  too 
much  to  accept,  unless  she  could  show  some 
thing  more  than  this  pale  flame  of  gratitude  in 
return. 

At  length  he  came,  and  she  was  glad.  Still 
she  would  not  grant  the  promise  for  which  he 
begged  ;  would  scarcely  grant  enough  of  love's 
privilege  to  keep  hope  alive. 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  161 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  all  these  endless 
days,"  he  asked,  "  while  I  have  been  despatch 
ing  matters  with  reckless  haste  to  be  with 
you  ?  " 

"  Thinking,"  she  replied ;  "  thinking  over  all 
my  past." 

"Do  not  think  of  that,  but  of  the  future." 

"  No,  I  seem  to  think  mainly  of  the  past.  I 
have  been  trying  to  make  myself  out ;  to  make 
out  some  sort  of  estimate  of  that  strange  —  I 
mean  "- 

She  could  not  name  Thorn,  but  Truesdale 
understood  her,  and  said,  with  a  smile, 

"  If  seeing  him  almost  daily  for  several  years 
could  not  help  you  to  that  estimate,  thinking 
about  him  now  can  hardly  do  so." 

As  days  went  by  he  grew  puzzled  over  her 
complex  uncertainty.  She  was  not  capricious  ; 
she  was  far  too  earnest  for  that.  While  she 
would  give  him  no  positive  encouragement  that 
she  would  ever  become  his  wife,  she  always 
received  him  with  a  warm,  quiet  gladness  that 
made  him  long  for  their  hour  of  meeting.  To 
himself  he  called  her  a  beautiful  mystery. 

The  Avinter  weeks  passed  on,  and  Truesdale 
came  and  went.  At  length  one  day  he  returned 


162  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

to  her  after  a  two  weeks'  absence  in  New  York, 
feeling  a  premonition  that  he  would  hear  his 
final  answer.  He  found  Emily  watching  for 
him  at  the  window,  and  it  gave  him  a  throb  of 
buoyant  confidence.  She  met  him  at  the  door, 
and,  taking  his  oifered  hand,  led  him  to  the 
sofa.  She  even  held  his  hand  a  little  after  they 
were  seated. 

"You  have  made  an  escape,  my  friend,"  were 
her  first  words. 

"  An  escape  !  "  he  queried,  in  those  mellow, 
deferential  tones  that  went  straight  to  the  heart 
of  every  woman  who  heard  them. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  away,  and  I  am  glad  to  go. 
I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  my  mother's 
brother,  urging  me  to  come  to  Scotland.  I 
found  his  address  in  looking  through  some  old 
papers  of  my  parents'  that  Mr.  Wycoff  gave  me 
just  before  I  came  here.  I  wrote,  and  this  is 
the  answer." 

"You  look  elated,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  feel  a  great  relief.  I  am  calm,  and 
sure  of  everything  now." 

"  You  are  sure  3rou  do  not  love  me,  and  never 
could?" 

"  My  willingness  to  leave  you  forever  puts  it 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  163 

beyond  doubt.  And  so  I  say  you  have  made 
an  escape ;  for  I  might  have  been  persuaded ; 
and  marriage  without  love,  or  love  only  on  one 
side  —  death,  you  know,  is  to  be  preferred." 

Truesdale  rose  suddenly  and  crossed  the 
room.  He  was  strongly  moved,  and  until  he 
had  gained  self-mastery  he  did  not  let  her  see 
his  face.  He  had  not  schooled  himself  for  ulti 
mate  failure,  and  it  was  very  bitter.  To  miss 
what  his  whole  heart  longed  for  —  to  find  him 
self  utterly  baffled  where  he  had  dreamed  con 
fidently  of  success  !  He  was  perhaps  not  vainer 
than  other  men  of  great  personal  advantages, 
but  he  had  always  enjoyed  a  happy  sense  of  his 
own  power.  And  this  woman,  so  lonely  and 
so  sympathetic,  had  kindly  and  firmly  put  aside 
his  earnestly  proffered  love.  With  a  free  heart 
she  could  not  do  it !  So,  in  the  sudden  reaction 
of  his  self-esteem,  he  declared.  Yet  what  was 
the  secret  of  her  preoccupation,  if  preoccupied 
she  was  ? 

"When  do  you  go?"  he  asked,  returning  to 
her  side. 

"  Perhaps  in  a  month  or  two ;  Mrs.  Rossing- 
ton  says  not  until  June.  But  you  must  go  at 
once.  It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had 


164  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

not  come.  You  have  stayed  too  long;  but  I 
have  been  so  weak !  I  was  flattered  and 
soothed,  and  did  not  think  I  might  be  wrong 
ing  you.  My  history  has  been  one  of  mistakes 
—  my  own  and  others',  and  I  am  infinitely 
sorry." 

A  little  later  he  said  all  there  was  left  to  be 
said  —"Farewell !  "  and  "  God  bless  you  !  " 

\ 

When  Truesdale  disappeared  from  New  Mad 
rid,  the  surmise  was  commonly  expressed  that 
he  had  "followed  John  Thorn's  wife."  The 
Kitzmillers  felt  sure  of  it.  For  a  time  Emily 
wrote  weekly  letters  from  Albany ;  then  there 
fell  a  long  silence,  over  which  Olive  grieved  and 
wondered. 

"  She  is  goin'  to  be  married,"  said  Mrs.  Kitz- 
miller,  "and  she  don't  rightly  know  how  to 
talk  about  it  on  paper." 

That  evening,  about  the  time  of  winding 
the  kitchen  clock,  she  remarked  to  her  quiet 
partner,  — 

"Well,  it's  just  as  I  expected,  and  as  every 
body  else  expected ;  but  it  don't  seem  right  to 
me,  and  it  don't  to  her,  or  she  wouldn't  have 
stopped  writin'." 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.       165 

Her  usually  docile  listener  for  once  felt  dis 
posed  to  make  reply. 

"That's  so,  Lucy,"  he  said  ;  "  there  is  a  sort 
of  wrong-seemin'  about  it.  But  it 's  something 
that 's  done  all  around  us  every  day  in  the  year. 
People  get  divorced,  and  marry  somebody  else, 
and  settle  down  and  get  along  right  comfort 
able.  In  a  good  many  cases  they  r'ally  seem 
to  have  bettered  their  circumstances."  The 
answer  to  this  came  sharp  and  sudden. 

"  Dan'l  Kitzmiller,  if  there  's  the  least  mite  of 
good  reasonin'  in  that,  I  'd  like  to  be  made  to 
see  it !  You  know  's  well 's  I  do  that  the  whole 
State  of  Indiana's  doin'  of  it  would  n't  make  it 
right,  if  it  wasn't  right  afore!"  Daniel,  not 
being  of  an  argumentative  turn,  made  no  re 
sponse  to  this,  and  his  better  half  talked  on. 

"  It  would  be  next  to  impossible  to  make  me 
believe  Emily  was  n't  all  rigid ;  but  I  'm  not 
quite  so  sure  about  Truesdale.  And  if  he  isn't 
as  honest  a  man  as  she  is  a  woman,  she  '11  be  a 
sight  more  unhappy  with  him  than  she  ever  was 
with  Thorn.  If  she  could  'a'  been  rid  out  of  the 
idea  that  John  knew  about  the  old  man's  money 
afore  he  married  her,  she  could  n't  V  helped 
respectin'  him ;  everybody  else  does.  He 's 


166  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

maybe  a  harsh,  overbearin'  sort  of  a  man;  but 
I  believe  his  character's  built  on  a  solid  founda 
tion  of  good  principle.  I  'm  not  so  sure  about 
Truesdale." 

To  Olive  she  said, 

"  Be  patient  awhile,  dearie ;  one  of  these 
days  you'll  get  a  paper  with  her  weddin'  notice 
in  it.  Then  you  may  write  to  her  again,  but  I 
wouldn't  now." 

No  such  paper  ever  came  to  Olive,  but  at  last 
a  letter  came,  an  earnest,  loving  letter,  assuring 
her  that  she  had  not  been  forgotten  for  a  single 
day  or  hour.  In  it  Emily  said, 

"  I  am  not  married.  I  do  not  expect  to  be. 
I  have  opened  my  heart  upon  this  subject  to 
Mrs.  Rossington  as  freely  as  I  could.  Some 
day  she  will  tell  you  all.  In  June  I  expect  to 
go  to  my  relations  in  Scotland.  I  shall  take 
with  me  your  sweet  picture,  and  the  thought  of 
your  love  and  your  dear  mother's  wonderful 
kindness  as  a  priceless  possession.  I  suppose 
you  sometimes  see  Mr.  Thorn.  I  hope  the  look 
of  anxiety  and  discontent  has  gone  out  of  his 
face.  Surely  life  must  seem  brighter  to  him 
now  that  he  is  quite  free  ;  and  when  I  have  left 
this  pitiless  continent  forever  it  will  seem 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.      167 

brighter  yet.  After  I  have  sailed,  you  may 
tell  him." 

But  Olive  did  not  wait  for  Emily  to  sail. 
That  evening  she  waylaid  Thorn  between  his 
house  and  the  tannery,  and  gave  him  the  letter. 
He  glanced  at  the  envelope  and  grew  pale. 

"Is  this  for  my  eyes,  Olive?  Does  she  want 
me  to  read  it  ?  " 

"/  want  you  to  read  it,  Mr.  Thorn.  She 
does  not  know  what  she  wants,  and  never  did  !  " 
She  Started  to  leave  him  ;  then  the  impulsive 
child  turned,  and  taking  the  hand  that  held  the 
letter  in  both  her  own,  she  said,  — 

"Oh,  be  good  to  her,  Mr.  Thorn,  and  bring 
her  back  !  I  cannot  have  her  go  so  far  away  ! 
You  must  not  let  her  go  !  Please  be  good  to 
her  and  bring  her  home!"  Then,  loosing  his 
hand,  she  flitted  away  in  the  closing  night. 

Thorn  read  the  letter  by  his  counting-room 
lamp.  The  thin  little  sheets  still  fluttered  in 
his  trembling  hand,  when  Davy  Ransom  gave 
the  door  a  thump,  and  thrust  in  an  arm,  with 
the  word  "  Mail."  John  took  the  letters.  The 
first  one  his  eyes  fell  upon  was  posted  at  Buffalo, 
and  addressed  in  a  handwriting  as  familiar  to 
him  as  his  own.  He  threw  it  down  with  a 


168  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

muttered  curse  ;  then  tore  it  open  and  took  in 
the  contents  with  one  savage  glance  :  — 

"DEAR  THORN,  —  Once  you  were  audaciously  honest 
with  me,  under  very  peculiar  circumstances;  now  it  is 
my  turn.  I  have  played  high,  and  lost.  Fate  and  a 
woman's  incomprehensible  will  were  against  me.  I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  my  defeat  means  your  vic 
tory.  H.  T." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"YTTHEN  Horace  Truesdale  found  himself 
again  en  route  for  the  West,  he  had  no 
intention  of  taking  New  Madrid  in  his  course. 
His  two  months'  sojourn  in  his  native  State  had 
shown  him  that  the  East  could  never  again  be 
home  to  him.  He  had  learned  to  love  Indiana, 
with  its  life-teeming  forests,  lakes,  and  marshes. 
His  whole  being  had  become  saturated  with 
their  subtle  aroma  ;  his  ear  had  grown  quick 
for  their  peculiar  sounds,  —  the  call  of  the  wild 
turkey,  the  whistle  of  the  snipe,  the  drumming 
of  the  fan-tailed  grouse.  But  Indiana  was  not 
the  goal  of  his  present  journey.  He  had  said 
to  himself  at  starting,  — 

"  Omaha  certainly  ;  Virginia  City  probably." 
He  reached  Fort  Wayne  in  the  night.  There 
would  be  a  delay  of  some  hours  before  he  could 
go  on  to  Chicago.  He  went  to  a  hotel  where 
he  had  often  put  up  before,  took  a  room,  and 
retired  to  bed.  He  was  within  a  long  day's 
ride  of  his  late  home ;  he  might  never  be  so 
near  again.  He  lay  with  closed  eyes,  thinking  of 

169 


170  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

many  things.  The  future  was  not  without  color 
and  attractiveness,  notwithstanding  he  was  a 
recently  disappointed  man.  He  was  full  of 
healthy  enterprise  ;  his  zest  for  nature,  and  his 
interest  in  the  vast,  wild  region  toward  which 
his  steps  were  tending,  were  very  great,  though 
a  sincere  and  poignant  regret  rankled  in  his 
heart.  He  thought  of  his  schemes  for  the  fu 
ture  ;  but  his  thoughts  ever  and  again  recurred 
to  New  Madrid,  his  old  den,  and  the  good  rifle 
that  lay  in  its  hooks  above  the  low  door.  He 
recalled  his  pets,  one  by  one.  He  had,  before 
he  left,  bestowed  them  upon  various  friends 
and  acquaintances.  If  it  had  been  spring  he 
might  have  given  them  the  freedom  of  the  for 
est,  but  at  that  season  it  would  have  been  cru 
elty  to  do  so.  Susie  Hodges  had  adopted  Sam 
Slick  at  his  particular  request.  He  would  like 
to  see  Sam  again.  He  greatly  wanted  that 
gun  ;  perhaps  he  would  send  for  it  some  time. 

He  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  he  saw  Susie 
walking  with  Charlie  Walters,  swinging  his 
hand  in  a  childish  way,  their  fingers  locked 
together.  He  thought,  in  his  dream,  he  ought 
to  be  in  Charlie's  place,  for  he  had  often  walked 
that  way  with  her.  Their  backs  were  toward 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  171 

him ;  but  he  called  her  name,  and  she  turned 
quickly,  revealing,  not  the  face  of  his  Black- 
eyed  Susan, .but  that  of  an  aged  and  withered 
woman,  with  gray  hair  and  sunken  eyes.  The 
change  gave  him  a  shock,  but  the  instant  her 
glance  rested  upon  him  the  rich  blood  mounted 
to  her  cheeks  and  brow,  a  soft  fire  kindled  in 
her  dark  eyes,  and,  loosing  her  hand  from  that 
of  her  companion,  she  clasped  it  with  its  fellow 
upon  her  breast,  and  stood  before  him  a  radiant, 
smiling  image  of  youth  and  beauty. 

It  was  snowing  furiously  when  he  went  down 
to  breakfast  in  the  dimly-lighted  dining-room. 
That  meal  being  finished,  he  walked  through 
the  office  to  the  street  door  and  viewed  the 
situation.  An  omnibus,  with  a  lantern  at  its 
front,  stood  waiting  to  carry  passengers  to  the 
westward-bound  train.  And  there  stood  the 
heavy,  lumbering  old  hack,  with  its  black,  flap 
ping  oil-cloths,  that  would  reach  New  Madrid 
some  hours  after  dark.  He  lighted  a  cigar  and 
climbed  into  it, — the  only  passenger  for  that 
dismal  day's  ride.  He  wanted  his  rifle. 

He  dined  at  the  Windfall,  a  half-way  house 
kept  by  a  man  named  Stots,  who  expressed 
much  surprise  at  seeing  him,  and  joked  him 


172  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

about  "running  away  with  the  grass-widder." 
He  reached  Bounce's  about  eight  that  evening, 
exchanged  brief  greetings  with  its  astonished 
proprietor,  and  sat  down  to  warm  his  chilled 
feet,  without  removing  his  overcoat. 

rc  Yes,  I  '11  have  supper  presently,  but  I  '11 
step  out  first.  I  left  a  good  rifle  in  my  den 
over  yonder ;  am  curious  to  see  if  it 's  there  yet 
all  right," 

"  The  place  '11  be  dark  as  a  blackleg's  heart," 
said  Rounce. 

"I've  got  matches,"  said  the  other,  starting 
out,  "  and  there  's  a  candle  on  the  shelf." 

As  he  approached  the  little  square  box  that 
had  somehow  been  in  his  mind's  eye  all  day,  he 
thought  he  saw  a  glimmer  of  light  through  a 
crack  in  the  closed  board  shutters.  He  turned 
the  knob  of  the  door,  found  it  unlocked,  and 
entered.  A  lantern,  with  a  dimly  burning 
candle  in  it,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  bare 
room,  and  at  its  farther  side  sat  a  woman  or 
girl,  leaning  forward,  with  her  face  resting  upon 
the  table  at  which  he  used  to  write.  She  lifted 
her  head  as  he  approached  ;  it  was  Susie,  or  the 
pale  ghost  of  Susie  !  A  murmur  of  compassion 
escaped  Truesdale's  lips,  and  he  involuntarily 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  173 

opened  his  arms  to  the  forlorn  girl,  who  clung 
to  his  breast  sobbing,  but  with  tearless  eyes. 
She  trembled  violently,  and  he  knew  that  he 
was  supporting  almost  her  entire  weight  upon 
his  arm.  He  sought  her  pulse  and  realized  that 
she  was  in  danger  of  fainting.  Replacing  her 
in  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen,  he  drew 
forth  a  traveller's  flask  of  brandy,  and  made 
her  taste  it.  As  he  held  and  chafed  her  hands, 
he  could  feel  all  their  little  bones  with  startling 
plainness.  He  passed  his  hand  up  over  her  arm 
and  shoulder,  whence  the  pretty,  girlish  round 
ness  had  go.ne ;  over  her  face,  with  its  sharp 
outlines  and  sunken  eyes. 

"Great  Heaven!  Susie,  can  it  be  that  you 
have  suffered  like  this  for  me  !  What  brings 
you  here  to-night  so  late  ?  " 

She  could  not  find  her  voice,  but  answered  in 
a  soft  whisper,  — 

"  I  went  to  the  store  for  some  lining  for  father, 
and  just  stopped  in  a  moment  as  I  was  passing." 

He  glanced  at  the  table  and  saw  upon  what 
she  had  been  pillowing  her  sad  face  —  a  pair  of 
his  own  leathern  gauntlets,  which  he  had  care 
lessly  left  there.  Drawing  her  head  against 
him,  he  said  in  tones  of  tenderest  pity,— 


174  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

"  Poor  little  girl !  I  did  not  know ;  I  never 
dreamed  it  was  so  deep  a  thing  !  " 

"I  never  meant  you  should  know,"  she  sighed  ; 
"  but  now  I  do  not  care.  I  kept  up  well  till 
after  you  were  gone." 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "you  kept  up  well. 
You  even  encouraged  Charlie  Walters.  He 
was  with  you  a  good  deal  just  before  I 
left." 

He  removed  her  shawl  and  replaced  it  with 
his  own  great-coat,  warm  from  his  person, 
using  the  shawl  to  wrap  well  her  feet  and  an 
kles.  Then  he  drew  up  another  chair  and 
seated  himself  beside  her. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little  while,  Susie, 
and  this  place  is  like  Spitzbergen.  Are  you 
comfortable  so  ?  " 

She  answered  with  a  long  sigh,  nestling 
closer  in  his  arms. 

"Do  you  know  where  I  have  been,  Susie?" 

She  raised  her  head  slowly,  and  looked  at 
him  earnestly  for  a  moment. 

"I  had  almost  forgotten,"  she  said.  "You 
followed  Emily  Thorn.  Are  you  married?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  "and  never  will  be  to  her. 
I  wanted  her,  but  she  would  n't  have  me.  I 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  175 

received  her  final  answer  only  a  week  ago.  She 
rejected  me  firmly,  though  I  begged  hard." 

"Poor  Horace  !  if  you  have  felt  as  I  have," 
murmured  the  fond  girl. 

"  I  have  not  felt  as  you  have,  dear,"  he  said, 
with  a  slight  smile  of  self-disdain.  "  I  'm  afraid 
I  could  never  feel  like  that.  But  I  loved  her, 
and  wanted  her.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
to  take  what  she  refused.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  Omaha,  Susie?  I  am  going  on  there  to 
morrow.  Will  you  be  married  to  me  in  the 
morning,  and  go,  too?" 

"If  I  live  till  morning.  If  this  happiness 
does  not  kill  me.  But  wait,"  she  said,  looking 
up,  with  her  deep,  pathetic  eyes.  "I  must  tell 
you  something  first.  You  remember  when 
Emily  was  thrown  from  her  horse,  and  her 
arm  broken.  She  said  some  girl  threw  herself 
before  the  horse  and  frightened  him  purposely. 
It  was  true,  and  it  was  I.  I  saw  her  coming 
as  I  sat  by  the  roadside,  and  something  made 
me  do  it.  I  think  I  wanted  her  to  be  killed  : 
but  I  was  miserably  sorry  afterwards.  I  did 
not  mean  it,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  Some 
thing  made  me  do  it  —  something  that  quite 
mastered  me  for  the  moment.  Can  you  forgive 


176  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

me?     I  think  she  would  forgive  me  if  she  could 
understand." 

"  Poor  Susie  ! "  he  said,  stroking  her  rich, 
dark  hair  with  great  gentleness.  "You  were 
very  wicked,  but  very  wretched.  I  think  she 
would  forgive  you  if  she  could  understand.  I 
will  take  you  home  now.  The  clerk's  office  is 
still  open,  and  I  will  procure  the  license  to- 
night  ;  to-morrow  morning,  before  the  stage 
goes  out,  you  will  be  my  wife.  But  think 
well,  my  child ;  you  are  giving  up  a  good  deal. 
Those  bad  little  brothers  of  yours  are  very  fond 
of  you,  and  your  parents  will  grieve  to  lose 
you." 

"They  were  losing  me  anyhow,"  she  said ;  "I 
could  not  have  lived  till  the  woods  were  green." 

Again  his  boundless  compassion,  which  was 
perhaps  his  predominant  trait,  prompted  him  to 
fold  her  in  a  closer  embrace,  as  he  said,  "I 
have  n't  much  to  offer  in  return  for  your  fresh, 
girlish  tenderness,  but  I  will  be  kind  to  you, 
and  faithful." 

The  words  were  spoken  not  merely  as  a  prom 
ise,  but  as  a  vow  ;  and  he  kept  it. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

nHHERE  are  crises  in  every  life  of  strong  and 
varied  experience,  which  leave  the  indi 
vidual  in  an  attitude  of  vague  expectancy. 
These  pauses,  when  the  soul  looks  Fate  in  the 
face  with  a  question,  are  usually  speedily  re 
warded.  After  Truesdale's  departure  Emily 
found  herself  in  just  this  waiting,  questioning 
mood.  To  Mrs.  Rossington  she  one  day 
said,  — 

"If  I  do  not  take  passage  for  Scotland  at 
once,  I  believe  I  will  never  go  at  all." 

"  And  what  if  you  do  not  ?  "  said  her  friend. 
"  I  would  be  glad  if  you  would  willingly  aban 
don  the  project,  and  begin  to  shape  your  life  to 
the  conditions  around  you  now,  as  though  this 
city  were  to  be  your  future  home." 

"  I  feel  sure  it  will  not  be,"  said  Emily,  though 
why  she  said  it  she  could  not  tell.  A  moment 
later  a  wave  of  self-reproach  swept  over  her, 
and  she  added  quickly,  — 

"You  have  been  a  friend  and  mother  to  me, 
dear  Mrs.  Rossington,  and  everything  is  most 

177 


178      JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

pleasant  for  me  here,  yet  I  feel  sure  this  place 
will  not  be  my  future  home.  I  do  not  say  this 
from  any  conscious  choice,  but  from  an  unde 
fined  yet  strong  impression." 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them,  which 
the  elder  lady  broke  by  saying,  — 

"  There  is  no  day  of  my  life  that  I  do  not 
take  blame  to  myself  for  not  having  supple 
mented  the  knowledge  you  voluntarily  gave  me 
of  your  unhappy  relations  with  Mr.  Thorn,  by 
some  further  acquaintance  with  you  both  before 
I  left  Indiana." 

Emily  put  by,  with  a  strong  hand,  the  em 
barrassment  which  the  mention  of  Thorn's  name 
always  brought  with  it,  and  asked,  — 

"  What  would  you.  have  done  if  you  had 
known  us  better  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  might  have  helped  you  to  know 
each  other  better.  At  all  events  I  would  have 
tried  to  convince  you  of  what  I  now  fully  be 
lieve,  that  your  husband  was  your  devoted  lover ; 
however  you  might  have  taken  it."  Emily's 
voice  was  very  low  as  she  said,  — 

"I  believe  that  now,  at  least,  and  I  take  it  like 
all  the  rest,  rather  painfully." 

One  stormy  evening,  some  two  weeks  later, 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  179 

Mrs.  Rossi ngton  opened  her  street  door  herself 
to  admit  a  tall  stranger,  who  asked  in  mellow, 
western  tones  for  Mrs.  Thorn.  The  widow  was 
a  shrewd  woman,  quick  to  think  and  to  act. 
Giving  him  her  hand  in  token  of  cordial  wel- 

O 

come,  she  said,  — 

"You  are  Mr.  John  Thorn.  Before  I  take 
you  to  Emily  I  have  ten  words  to  say  and  a 
question  to  ask." 

He  stood  uncovered,  holding  the  hand  of  the 
earnest,  eloquent  little  lady  in  a  close  clasp,  a 
look  of  concentrated  interest  and  emotion  suf 
fusing  his  strong  face.  The  words  were  said, 
the  question  asked  and  answered  ;  and,  with  a, 
joyous  light  on  her  face,  Mrs.  Rossi  ngton  con 
ducted  him  into  the  presence  of  the  woman  he 
sought,  and  closed  the  door  upon  them. 

He  went  straight  to  her,  but  stopped  within 
two  paces. 

"Emily!"  he  said;  "my  poor,  pale  love! 
Will  you  forgive  me,  and  let  me  hold  you  to 
my  heart  ?  " 

She  threw  up  her  arms  —  the  signal  of  sur 
render —  and  let  them  fall  around  his  neck. 

HOAV  the  snow  fell  during  the  days  that  fol 
lowed  !  Emily  will  never  forget  that  week  ;  the 


180  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

steadily,  noiselessly  descending  snow  shower; 
the  blank  whiteness  of  the  world  without ;  the 
muffled  sounds  and  shapeless  figures  in  the 
street ;  the  glowing  coal-fire  in  the  parlor  grate  ; 
the  sense  of  soft  seclusion  under  the  sheltering 
wings  of  the  storm  ;  the  long  hours  of  earnest 
talk  or  happy  silence  with  John  Thorn.  For, 
though  no  one  else  came,  the  storm  did  not  keep 
him  away.  One  morning  he  found  Emily  writ 
ing.  She  rose  suddenly  and  put  aAvay  her 
papers. 

"  Did  I  interrupt  you  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  it  is  very 
early,  I  suppose,  and  —  I  have  come  too  soon?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  grew  impatient  to 
tell  you  something  that  I  forgot  yesterday ;  so 
I  commenced  writing  it.  I  thought  if  some 
thing  should  prevent  your  coming  to-day,  and 
we  never  met  again,  you  could  read  it." 

"Why,  what  could  prevent  my  coming,"  he 
asked  wonderingly. 

"Nothing,  of  course,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  I  am 
always  full  of  strange  fancies, —  whims  if  you 
choose.  And  all  this  seems  so  unreal.  Each 
morning  when  I  wake  I  wonder  if  it  is  not  all  a 
dream  —  your  coming  and  loving  me  so,  and  — 
my  happiness." 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  181 

They  were  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
He  hud  lifted  her  hands  upon  his  breast,  and 
held  them  there  clasped  under  his  own.  Still 
standing  thus  he  begged  her  to  tell  him  the  dear 

O  oO 

thing  she  had  forgotten  yesterday.  So  she  took 
him  back  to  that  sad  time  when  Frank  Rossing- 
ton  lay  a  corpse  at  Kitzuriller's. 

"That  was  one  of  the  times  when,  for  a  little 
while,  I  forgot  to  be  suspicious  and  afraid  of 
you.  You  were  so  calm  and  helpful,  yet  so 
truly  sympathetic.  The  tenderness  of  your 
nature  showed  itself  in  many  little  ways  !  Just 
then,  if  you  had  spoken  gently  to  me,  or  laid 
your  hand  upon  me,  I  could  have  clung  to  you 
and  sobbed  out  all  my  loneliness  and  heart 
break,  here  on  your  breast !  " 

He  took  his  breath  with  a  short,  strident 
sigh. 

"And  just  then  I  spent  long,  sleepless  nights, 
almost  destroyed  with  the  violence  of  the 
struggle  between  my  great  longing  to  offer  you 
my  love,  and  my  fear  of  giving  you  deadly 
affront !  Not  more  than  once  in  centuries  could 
such  a  history  as  ours  be  possible  !  " 

Another  day  she  begged  leave  to  make  a 
confession.  It  was  that  she  had  sometimes  con- 


182  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

trusted  him  unfavorably  in  her  thoughts  with 
others  who  were  more  fluent  talkers.  And  that 
now  his  conversation  was  a  constant  surprise  to 
her ;  his  knowledge  of  and  interest  in  things 
to  which  she  had  always  supposed  him  to  be 
indifferent. 

"In  short,"  said  Thorn,  "I  have  seemed  to 
you  only  a  money-maker.  That  mistake  was 
the  rock  of  our  shipwreck.  And  it  was  a  mis 
take.  One  of  the  few  formulated  principles  of 
my  philosophy  is  not  to  regard  money  as  an  end, 
only  as  a  means.  I  have  had  my  dreams  of 
travel  and  self-improvement,  of  a  life  of  restful 
activities  very  different  from  the  one  which  I 
have  lived.  But  the  money  had  to  be  made.  A 
man  with  a  good  intellect  —  such  as,  without 
vanity,  I  know  I  have  —  could  hardly  live  n\y 
life  of  business  and  politics  and  be  an  ignoramus. 
He  need  not  be  a  boor.  And  though  I  am  not 
naturally  bookish,  I  have  read  a  good  deal  these 
last  years.  It  has  been  a  solacing  act  of  devo 
tion  to  you." 

She  glanced  up  with  a  smile  whose  confusing 
sweetness  made  him  find  his  voice  with  an 
effort,  when  she  repeated  the  whispered  ques 
tion,  "How  to  me,  John?" 


JOHN  THOEN'S  FOLKS.  183 

"  Why,  I  knew  you  were  always  reading,  and 
I  managed  generally  to  find  out  what.  It  is  the 
only  thing,  dear,  about  which  I  ever  spied  upon 
you.  I  think  you  will  find  in  my  den  in  the 
currier's  shop  almost  every  volume  you  have 
read  and  thought  about  for  three  years." 

"  And  we  misrht  have  read  and  thought  about 

O  O 

them  together  !  "  she  murmured. 

At  length  the  snow  ceased  to  fall ;  and  one 
afternoon  a  small  bridal  party  entered  the  gray 
old  church,  the  stones  of  whose  walls  were  dear 
to  Mrs.  Rossington's  heart.  A  few  family 
friends  of  Mrs.  Rossington  were  present.  Emily 
appeared  on  the  arm  of  a  gray-haired  brother 
of  the  widow,  who  gave  her  away  in  due  form. 
Standing  there  in  that  mellow  light,  with  the 
robed  priest  reading  the  quaint,  impressive  ser 
vice  of  the  Church,  a  quick  vision  crossed  Emily's 
mind  of  that  other  bridal  scene,  —  so  long,  so 
long  ago  it  seemed  !  —  the  cabin  in  the  woods  ; 
the  palsied  old  man  on  the  bed ;  the  lame 
schoolmaster  standing  before  them,  not  without 
a  certain  dignity  of  his  own,  —  for  a  brief  in 
stant  it  was  all  vividly  present.  Then  the  organ 
sounded  a  glad,  soft  peal,  and  John  and  Emily 
Thorn  walked  forth  into  a  new  life  together. 


184  JOHX  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

Emily  remained  with  Mrs.  Rossington  until 
spring.  Thorn  returned  almost  immediately  to 
Indiana.  He  wished  to  prepare  his  home  for 

her  coming.     He  wished  also  that  their  neijrh- 

o  o 

bors  might  be  somewhat  prepared. 

In  one  of  her  long  letters  to  Olive,  Emily 
said,  "I  think  so  often  of  all  our  neighbors.  I 
mean  in  future  to  know  them  better,  and  know 
them  for  their  good  and  my  own.  It  shall  be 
the  aim  of  my  life  to  walk  with  them  in  ways 
of  mutual  helpfulness  and  kind  judging.  You 
and  I,  Olive,  will  do  something  for  the  girls  we 
know.  Their  environments  are  so  narrow, 
their  aims  so  petty  !  If  there  are  any  among 
them  who  can  be  waked  up  to  the  fact  that  life 
is  a  lesson-day  as  well  as  a  work-day  and  play- 
day,  —  waked  up  to  habits  of  thought  and  ob 
servation,  we  will  find  them  out.  It  will  be  a 
sort  of  mission  for  us." 

Olive  read  this  to  her  mother,  who  remarked 
dryly,  "I  don't  like  that  use  of  the  word  mis 
sion.  It  belongs  to  religious  work.  And  after 
all,  folks  need  savin'  more  than  civilizin'.  It 
is  n't  every  one  that  can  be  just  so  cultivated, 
but  every  one  may  have  their  sins  forgiven." 

Of   course,    during    Emily's   absence   many 


JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS.  185 

things  were  said  that  would  have  been  painful 
for  her  to  hear.  That  which  was  uttered  with 
most  contempt  was,  that  John  Thorn  had  taken 
her  back  after  Truesdale  had  deserted  her.  To 
this  Mrs.  Kitzmiller,  who  attended  qui Rings 
and  other  neighborhood  gatherings  with  an  assi 
duity  she  was  never  guilty  of  before  nor  after 
wards,  would  reply,  — 

"Nobody  in  their  senses,  who  knows  John 
Thorn,  would  believe  that  for  a  moment." 

Owinsr  to  this  good  friend's  steadfast  cham- 

O  O 

pionship,  supported  by  the  fact  that  she  knew 
more  of  Emily's  life  after  her  departure  from 
the  Wycoff  settlement  than  any  one  else,  the 
tongue  of  curious  and  damaging  gossip  was  at 
length  silenced  ;  and  when,  in  the  early  spring, 
John  brought  her  home,  she  was  welcomed  by 
all  with  a  cordiality  warm  and  unfeigned. 

As  soon  as  was  deemed  proper  she  was  waited 
upon  by  a  large  visiting  party,  under  the  leader 
ship  of  Mrs.  Kitzmiller.  On  this  occasion  no 
embarrassing  allusions  were  made,  and  these 
somewhat  narrow  but  well-meaning  neighbors 
preserved  a  degree  of  prudent  reserve  as  sur 
prising  as  it  was  commendable. 

They  found  Aunt  Thirsa  deposed  from  her 


186  JOHN  THORN'S  FOLKS. 

position  of  domestic  autocrat,  partly  by  rheu 
matism,  partly  by  John's  firm  yet  kind  order 
that  Emily  should  be  mistress  in  everything. 

She  sat  in  her  splint-bottomed  rocking-chair, 
clean  and  cool,  and  kindly  waited  upon. 
Though  not  able  to  hear  the  lively  chat  about 
her,  she  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  and  would  occa 
sionally  break  out  and  talk  a  little  herself. 

"I  always  expected  to  have  to  give  up  doin' 
things  when  John  got  married,  and  I'm  proper 
glad  it 's  Emily  I  got  to  give  up  to.  She  never 
had  no  nack  o'  housework,  and  the  sight  of  a 
hired  gal  always  did  make  me  sick  ;  but  land 
knows  I  got  no  cause  to  complain  s'  long  's  I  'm 
's  well  off  as  I  am." 

After  dinner  John  showed  the  visitors  the 
spot  which  he  and  Emily  had  selected  for  their 
new  house,  and  together  they  displayed  their 
drafts  and  plans  for  the  house  itself,  receiving 
pleasantly  suggestions  so  numerous  and  incon 
gruous,  that,  if  adopted,  the  structure  must 
have  proved  one  of  the  world's  wonders. 

The  short  spring  afternoon  was  wearing  awa}7. 
Motherly  Mrs.  Kitzmiller  drew  Emily  aside  for 
a  little  whispered  congratulation  and  counsel  ; 
then  there  was  a  lively  bustle  of  bonneting  and 


JOHN  THOKN'S  FOLKS.  187 

shawling  and  leave-taking.  Olive  had  been 
helping  Emily  all  day,  arranging  the  table  and 
waiting  upon  the  guests.  At  the  gate  her 
mother  missed  her. 

"Where's  Ollie?"  she  called.  "Come, 
daughter,  we  're  going  now." 

"Let  Olive  stay  all  night,  please,"  said 
Thorn,  from  the  porch ;  "  my  wife  wants  her." 

"All  right,  if  they'll  keep  in  out  of  the 
dew,"  was  the  cheery  response,  as  the  worthy 
dame  hurried  off  to  join  old  Mrs.  Wycoff  and 
the  rest,  all  of  whom  were  unanimous  in  de 
claring  that  they  had  spent  a  delightful  day, 
and  that  matters  with  John  Thorn's  folks  were, 
at  last,  about  as  they  should  be. 


THE   DOUGLAS   NOVELS. 

BY  MISS  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS. 


Uniform   Volume*.    Price  $1.50  Each. 

FLOYD    GRANDON'S    HONOR. 

"Fascinating  throughout, and  worthy  of  the  reputation  of  the  author." 
—  Philadelphia  Methodist. 

WHOM    KATHIE    MARRIED. 

Kathie  was  the  heroine  of  the  popular  series  of  Kathie  Stories  for 
young  people,  the  readers  of  which  were  very  anxious  to  know  with 
whom  Kathie  settled  down  in  life.  Hence  this  story,  charmingly  written. 

LOST    IN    A    GREAT    CITY. 

"There  is  the  power  of  delineation  and  robustness  of  expression  that 
would  credit  a  masculine  hand  in  the  present  volume,  and  the  reader 
will  at  no  stage  of  the  reading  regret  having  commenced  its  perusal.  In 
some  parts  it  is  pathetic,  even  to  eloquence."  —  Sun  Francisco  Poxt. 

THE    OLD    WOMAN    WHO   LIVED    IN    A    SHOE. 
"  The  romances  of  Miss  Douglas's  creation  are  all  thrilliugly  interest 
ing."  —  Cambridge  Tribune. 

HOPE   MILLS;  or,  Between  Friend  and  Sweetheart. 
"  Amanda  Douglas  is  one  of  the  favorite  authors  of  American  novel- 
readers."  —  Manchester  Mirror. 

FROM    HAND    TO    MOUTH. 

"There  is  real  satisfaction  in  reading  this  book,  from  the  fact  that  we 
can  BO  readily  '  take  it  home '  to  ourselves."  —  Portland  Argun. 

NELLY    KINNARD'S    KINGDOM. 

"  The  Hartford  Religious  Herald  "  says,  "  This  story  is  so  fascinating, 
that  one  can  hardly  lay  it  dowa  after  taking  it  up." 

IN   TRUST ;  or,  Dr.  Bertrand's  Household. 

"She  writes  in  a  free,  fresh,  and  natural  way;  and  her  character*  are 
never  overdrawn." — Manchester  Mirror. 

CLAUDIA. 

"  The  plot  is  very  dramatic,  and  the  denofiment  startling.  Claudia,  the 
heroine,  is  one  of  those  self-sacrificing  characters  which  it  is  the  glory  o^ 
the  female  sex  to  produce."  —  Boston  Journal. 

STEPHEN    DANE. 

"  This  is  one  of  this  author's  happiest  and  most  successful  attempts  at 
novel-writing,  for  which  a  grateful  public  will  applaud  her."  —  Htrald. 

HOME    NOOK  ;   or,  the  Crown  of  Duty. 

"  An  interesting  story  of  home-life,  not  wanting  in  incident,  and  written 
in  forcible  and  attractive  style."  —  New  -  York  Graphic. 

SYDNIE    ADRIANCE ;    or,  Trying  the  World. 

"  The  works  of  Mi.s.s  Douglas  have  stood  the  test  of  popular  judgment, 
and  become  the  fashion.  They  are  true,  natural  in  delineation,  pure  and 
elevating  in  their  tone."  —  E.rpre ss,  Easton,  Penn. 

SEVEN    DAUGHTERS. 

The  charm  of  the  story  is  the  perfectly  natural  and  home-like  air  which 
pervades  it.  __^_ 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  pricj. 

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J.  T.  TROWBRI       A   000003865  3 


NEW    UNIFORM     EDITION. 


CUDJO'S    CAVE. 

Like  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  this  thrilling  etory  was  a  stimulating 
power  in  the  civil  war,  and  had  an  immense  sale.  Secretary  Chase,  of 
President  Lincoln's  cabinet,  said  of  it,  "I  could  not  help  reading  it:  it 
interested  and  impressed  me  profoundly." 

THE    THREE    SCOUTS. 

Another  popular  book  of  the  same  stamp,  of  which  "The  Boston  Tran 
script"  said,  "It  promises  to  have  a  larger  sale  than  '  Cudjo's  Cave.' 
It  is  impossible  to  open  the  volume  at  any  page  without  being  struck  by 
the  quick  movement  and  pervading  anecdote  of  the  story." 

THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 
A  Story  of  Burnside's  Expedition.     Illustrated  by  F.  O.  C.  BARLEY. 

"  The  most  popular  book  of  the  season.  It  will  sell  without  pushing." 
—  Zion's  Herald. 

MARTIN    MERRIVALE:    His   X   Mark. 

"  Strong  in  humor,  pathos,  and  unabated  interest.  In  none  of  the  books 
issued  from  the  American  press  can  there  be  found  a  purer  or  more  deli 
cate  sentiment,  a  more  genuine  good  taste,  or  a  nicer  appreciation  and 
brighter  delineation  of  character."  —  English  Journal. 

NEIGHBOR    JACKWOOD. 

A  story  of  New-England  life  in  the  slave-tracking  days.  Dramatized 
for  the  Boston  Museum,  it  had  a  long  run  to  crowded  houses.  The  story- 
is  one  of  Trowbridge's  very  best. 

COUPON    BONDS,  and  other  Stories. 

The  leading  story  is  undoubtedly  the  most  popular  of  Trowbridtre'a 
short  stories.  The  others  are  varied  in  character,  but  are  either  intensely 
interesting  or  "  highly  amusing." 

NEIGHBORS'    WIVES. 

An  ingenious  and  well-told  story.  Two  neighbors'  wives  are  tempted 
beyond  their  strength  to  resist,  and  eteal  each  from  the  other.  One  is 
discovered  in  the  act,  under  ludicrous  and  humiliating  circumstances, 
but  is  generously  pardoned,  with  a  promise  of  secrecy.  Of  course  she 
betrays  her  secret,  and  of  course  perplexities  come.  It  is  a  capital  story. 

12mo.     Cloth.    Price  per  volume,  $1.50. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers  and  newsdealers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid, 
on  receipt  of  price. 

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